


Comes Back To Me Burning Red

by pepsicola



Series: Passionate As Sin [4]
Category: South Park
Genre: F/M, M/M, Stepbrother AU, Title is a lyric from "Red" by Taylor Swift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-04-12 09:24:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 55,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepsicola/pseuds/pepsicola
Summary: And some get a second chance.





	1. Butters Stotch

**Senior year.**

I don’t usually hang out with the girls. Usually, it’s Tweek who hangs out with them because they love him so much. I don’t know why, but today, they invited me to hang out with them at Bebe’s house after school. I don’t mind. I didn’t have much to do anyway. Eric has work today, and so does Kenny. Eric works at his stepdad Mr. Donovan’s shoe store at the mall on Mondays and Wednesdays. Kenny works at Tweek Bros on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, then City Wok on Thursdays and Fridays. Stan and Kyle are having their “bro time” as Kenny calls it. Eric calls it their make out sessions behind their girlfriends’ backs.

We’ve been sitting on the floor of Bebe’s room watching Netflix, but not really ‘cause the girls are mostly on their phones. Tweek and I are the only ones watching Bebe’s laptop.

Bebe _Aww_ s and says, “You know your man’s a keeper if he comments on your every Instagram post.”

“Why? Does Clyde do that for you?” Wendy asks, peering over the top of her phone at Bebe.

Bebe looks at Wendy. “Duh. Why? Does Stan not do that for you?”

“No.”

Bebe cringes.

Wendy turns to the other girls. “Do your boyfriends comment on your Instagram posts all the time?” she asks.

Annie, Heidi, Nichole, and Red murmur their _Yes_ ’s.

Wendy’s jaw falls open. “Bullshit,” she mutters under her breath. Her eyes find me and Tweek on the floor. “How about you two? Do your boyfriends comment?”

Tweek takes the lollipop out of his mouth. “Yeah. But I wouldn’t worry so much, man. It’s just commenting. As long as he likes all your pictures.”

Wendy’s brown eyes flick to me. I shrink into myself. Wendy has that effect on people—making them feel intimidated without trying to. “And you?”

I feel all the girls’ eyes on me. And Tweek’s too. I guess since I’m dating Eric Cartman, it makes things a little more unpredictable.

“Um, well...” I knock my knuckles together, my cheeks heating up at the memory of the comments Eric leaves on my Instagram.

“Let’s check!” Bebe exclaims, holding up her phone. Everyone piles onto her bed beside her, craning over each other’s heads to catch a glimpse of her screen.

I watch as she pulls up my Instagram account. She taps on the most recent photo—my dirty Converse that used to be white but now have a more spray painted affect from the time I spray painted Summerton Park in junior year. It never occured to me that it’s been four months since I posted. Bebe goes into the comments, finding Eric’s right at the top.

She reads aloud, “ ‘Remember when we had creamy raw sex while you wore my hoodie? Let’s do that again. I like filling you with my warm cum and watching it drip out slowly.’ ”

The girls’ eyes bug out and their jaws drop. When Tweek starts laughing, they start laughing too.

“Holy shit,” Bebe says, a hand over her mouth. “That’s vulgar as _hell.”_

I blush. There are replies to Eric’s comment, most of them being laughing-crying emojis and LOL’s. Stan and Kyle’s replies are calling him a gay-ass, and Eric’s agreeing **Yuh**.

“Check the other posts,” Red urges.

So Bebe does. The post previous also has a comment from him, reading, **hey remember that post I sent u earlier? if u dont lemme assist: im gonna slide my dick in and out ur mouth with ur pretty pink lips squeezed around the shaft and ill cum so hard right down ur throat that ull be dripping when i pull out and ill watch you lick it all up bc u earned every drop**. The post is of a red spray painted heart on the sidewalk with a B+C in the middle. In other words, the comment is completely unrelated to the post. Like all of his comments.

“Jesus Christ, man,” Tweek says around his lollipop.

The girls giggle, continuing further back. Some of the stuff he’s commented are:

**imma fuck u so hard ull forget ur name, address, and parents and ull start calling me daddy** (It’s a selfie of me licking ice cream.)

**i wanna throw u on my bed and pound u until u cry and im whispering in ur ear and caressing u slowly and ur clinging to me bc im all u need** (A picture of Eric flipping me off as he eats KFC in front of the TV.)

**i own ur mouth and i am feeling the need for it so cmere** (It’s my hand holding Eric’s.)

**i wanna cum on ur face and have a photoshoot except only i get to see those pictures bc ur my perfect little slut** (It’s a selfie.)

**lemme kiss ur inner thighs until ur begging me to slide it in** (It’s a sunset. I took the picture on the roof of the U-Stor-It with Eric.)

**im gonna kiss u all up on ur neck while i feel u up so ur hot and bothered and shaking** (A picture of a picture of me screaming on a roller coaster with Eric next to me.)

**rub ur butt against my dick please** (It’s a painting of the sky I painted.)

**ride me like u would that horse** (A field trip we took to a ranch with me petting a white horse.)

**i really wanna be inside u rn** (For some reason, Eric had taken a picture of just my hips when we were laying in the grass and sent it to me, and so I posted it because it looked nice. I’m wearing blue jeans, and Eric’s T-shirt I’m wearing is riding up, exposing some of my midriff.)

**throat me** (The back of Eric’s head with one of my hands on his neck, and a corner of my face as we kiss. The picture’s blurry ‘cause I was gonna take a selfie with Eric’s hat on my head, but then he kissed me right as I took the picture. It was also the day after we first had sex, which was when his comments started to become more dirty.)

**y am i hard tho** (It’s me standing in the rain with my clothes plastered to my body and rain rolling down my smiling face.)

**spit in my mouth** (It’s a white rose against the sky.)

**bro come over here and sit on my lap and feel me get hard**  (A picture of my jeans I’d painted while I was grounded.)

**send dick pics. actually no send selfies bc i like ur face** (It’s a picture of my frozen yogurt.)

**i wanna kiss ur stupid face** (It’s a blue slushie with two straws sticking out the top. One for me, one for Eric, who’s a blur of red in the background.)

**im gay bc of u** (The bottom half of mine and Eric’s face as he kisses my cheek, the same picture we used to reveal our relationship.)

All in that order, newest to oldest, from the latest time I posted to the time we announced our relationship.

“Oh, oh!” Bebe shrieks. “We should experiment. Girls, get closer together. Butters, can you take a picture of us to post on your Instagram?”

I hold up my phone and take a picture of the six girls smiling. Bebe gets up, her hand extended. “Can I see?” she asks.

I give her my phone. She inspects the picture, puts over a filter, and posts the image. She goes back to my profile and says, “Ugh, Butters, I love the effortless aesthetic of your Instagram. I would try to have an aesthetic myself but it’s too much work.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Most of those pictures are taken by Eric, so maybe that’s why.”

Suddenly, two red tags pops up over the heart icon at the bottom of the screen. A like and a comment. Bebe goes to the picture, muttering, “Wow, that was fast.”

“Maybe he has post notifications on,” Nichole suggests.

“Aww,” Heidi and Annie harmonize with hands over their hearts.

Bebe reads, “ ‘Ew, what the fuck is this at Professor Chaos post thigh pics instead.’ ” She laughs, doubling over, returning my phone to me.

I’m blushing as Tweek says, “How does he come up with this shit so fast, man?”

“He follows those wholesome meme pages,” I tell him, murmuring.

Tweek and the girls all go, “Oohhh” in unison.

As more likes start piling up, Bebe takes a picture of my eyes in the sun and posts it unfiltered. Eric comments: **when i get home imma pick u up and slam u against the wall and look right in those eyes and tease u till u begging me to fuck u then imma dick u down good till u trembling**

He sent me a post that said something like that earlier. He takes a lotta inspiration from those. We both follow wholesome accounts that are really just dirty memes. It’s funny when we send some back and forth. I think we both like it so much ‘cause it leads to us acting out what we send each other.

Tweek gets out his phone and replies to Eric: **@thecoon that’s big talk coming from a boy who can't even hold his bf's hand in public**

Eric’s response is: **@coffeeslut.tweek stfu twink**

Tweek: **@thecoon o lol ok. since you're not here tho i guess i'll just have to keep butters company**

And Eric: **@coffeeslut.tweek nO DONT FUCKING TOUCH MY BABY U OVERCAFFEINATED HOE**

The girls, watching the encounter on their own Instagram accounts, start _Ooh_ ing.

Heidi says, “Oh my _God._ He called you his baby!”

Annie leans into me. “He’s totally in love with you, Butters,” she says.

“No shit, Annie,” Bebe says.

Tweek laughs, staring at his phone. “Oh my God, Craig commented too.”

I check my phone, seeing that Craig had said: **i thought @thecoon and @professorchaos were archenemies and now the coon is telling chaos hes gonna make gay love to him and im confused.**

And Eric said back: **@galacticspaceprince its just a username dumbass**

Craig’s response is: **@thecoon whatever you say but all i know is that you cant call my boyfriend a hoe when you comment like one.**

Tweek sighs happily, looking down at me. “Our boyfriends are dense motherfuckers, man, but we love them.”

I nod.

My phone pings. I glance at it, seeing a text from Eric: **hey come down im here**

I get to my feet. “I gotta go. Eric’s here,” I tell everyone in the room.

They all trade a look, smirking at each other. Bebe sing-songs, “You have a good time with him.” She puts a hand on my shoulder, gently nudging me towards her door. My ears burn at the implication.

I leave the house, closing the front door behind me. When we were sixteen, Eric’s mom gave him the red 2010 Mustang she used to drive. The windows are down. Eric waves at me, the smallest ghost of a smile on his lips. I smile back, lifting my hand to wave. As I do, I’m hit with the heavy sensation of feeling like I’ve been here before, at this very scene. The position of the car, Eric’s smile, the smell of the air and the faint warmth of the sun lost in the cold winter air—I’ve seen it all before.

“You okay?” Eric calls.

I blink away the deja vu, lifting my frown into a smile again. “I’m swell,” I chirp. I walk over to the car and get into the passenger seat of Eric’s car.

As soon as I close the door behind me, he grabs my head and kisses me rough. I kiss him back just as fervently. He smells like cologne. He’s never worn cologne before. My mouth waters.

I go back in for another kiss. The scent’s so much closer. I drag my lips down his cheek. I lick his throat, the smell of his cologne filling my senses. He tilts his head back, chuckling, when I scrape my teeth along the base of his throat. His hand’s on my thigh, squeezing as he goes higher up.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while,” he says. His voice is husky, and it sends hot shivers down my spine. “I feel like we’ve been apart too long.”

I hum, running my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I feel like that too. I’ve missed you all day. Ain’t that odd? Even though we saw each other at school?”

He says, “Yeah. And I’ve been having deja vu all day.” He puts the car into drive, cruising down the street. The wind coming in through the windows ruffles our hair. He sits back, and I press my tongue against his throat so I can feel the vibrations of his vocal chords when he talks. “Like at work, I thought I’d cleaned up the back room. You know, organize all the shoes and stuff. But then Dad asked me why I hadn’t organized the shoes and I told him I did. And he said I didn’t. So I checked to go prove it to him that I already did it, but all the shoes were still out and hadn’t been put away. It was fucking weird. I could’ve sworn I put them away. Then Clyde came in and told me he had this strong deja vu moment when he was in Trig. He said that he felt like he’d already written down the notes they were supposed to do but when he went back and looked for it, he hadn’t done it.”

I pull back. His neck’s shiny with my saliva. I put my seat belt on. Frowning, I say, “Me too. I had deja vu just now, at Bebe’s doorstep.” Outside the windshield, houses blur by.

His brows furrow. “Hm.”

I lean back in to peck at his neck. “Why’re you wearin’ cologne?” I ask.

He laughs, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I nibble him there. “I bought it last week. I wanted to try it out. Oh, by the way, I need to buy stuff from the grocery store and pick up dinner. Then we’ll go home.”

I hum, rubbing my nose against the spot under his ear. “Okay. You smell real good,” I murmur.

He puts his hand on the back of my neck, caressing me with his thumb. “Damn, who knew something as stupid as cologne could have effects like this? I put some on and suddenly you’re a horny bitch. Fucking awesome.”

“Well, of course. After you commented on my post like that, you better keep that promise,” I say.

He smirks at me.

I sit back to stare at his face. I trace his jawline. He looks away from the road to meet my eyes. He smiles, and I smile back. We meet in the middle, sharing a sweet kiss. He looks back at the road. His hand travels from my neck to my mouth, playing with my bottom lip. He shoots me a dirty smirk. “You horny enough to go for something other than kissing when we go back to my place?”

Heat crawls up between my legs. I kiss his palm. “We still gotta go get stuff?” I run my hands down his chest, putting my head on his shoulder. “Do we really gotta?”

He squeezes my thigh. “Yeah. It’s my turn to go run errands since Clyde did it last week.” He rolls his eyes for emphasis.

I pout, turning my head towards my window. The houses are gone. Now it’s just the stores and stuff.

Eric finds a place to park and we get out of the car. He keeps his arm around my waist as we enter the store. He slips his fingers into the pocket of my jeans.

He glances down at his phone. “I need to get eggs and milk and bread. Typical stuff.”

“Hurry,” I whine.

He glances at me, smirking. He kisses me. “Horny bitch.” He takes his hand from my pocket to squeeze my ass.

He doesn’t let go as we pick up the stuff he needs to get. There’s music playing overhead, and he pats me to the beat. I bury my face in his shoulder to stifle my laughter. He glances at me, nudging me with the bread in his other hand.

“What?” he says.

“What? You looked at me first,” I say.

He snorts. I kiss the corner of his mouth.

We leave the store and get KFC for dinner, which is typical of Eric. We eat it back at his house, in front of the TV because Eric’s family doesn’t eat at the dinner table unless it’s something Liane or Roger cooked themselves.

We end up in his room after eating, the door locked and the lights off. The curtains are pulled over the windows block out the stars. Eric corners me once we’re safe in the dark. He grabs me by my thighs. I wrap my arms and legs around him. He slams my back against the wall, biting my neck. My breath catches in my throat. I tighten my legs around him. I can feel him pressed against me.

He teases me, his hand sliding down to my crotch but doing nothing except rubbing me through my jeans.

I arch into him, whimpering, “G-gosh, Eric. Please fuck me. I need you.”

He grunts in response, his hand tightening on me. I cry out, bucking my hips. His kisses to my mouth and my neck are feverish and heated. His teeth are involved, biting me at sensitive places. He nibbles at the spot under my ear. I moan when he does it.

Then I’m taken from the wall, and Eric’s sitting on the edge of his bed. I’m in his lap. He pulls my shirt over my head, then his. He kisses my chest. Then he kisses me up until he gets to my face. He plays with my lip in a daze. His thumb parts my lips, and he kisses me softly at first. Then he opens his mouth against mine and pushes in his tongue. I sigh against him, slumping into him. He pulls back with my bottom lip between his teeth. He spits in my mouth, closing my jaw. I shake under his gaze. He watches my throat as I swallow. I whimper, and he looks me in the eyes. He goes back in, kissing my lips. Then the corner of my mouth. Then my jaw. Then under my ear.

I breathe deep when he starts nipping and sucking on my skin. I tilt my head to the side. His hand slides from my jaw to my neck, his thumb over my pulse. He kisses my mouth again, our teeth clicking.

I’m panting now, squirming in his lap, desperate for friction.

He rumbles, “You want me, don’t you, you dirty slut? My dirty cum slut.” He murmurs the last part affectionately.

I skim my hands over his bare shoulders. Voice shaking, I say, “Y-yes. I’m your dirty cum slut. I need you to fuck me real hard, Eric. Please.”

His hand on my neck brings my face closer to his so he can kiss me. He moves me onto my back, settling me down in his mattress. He lets go so he can take off my pants. He spreads my legs, settling himself between them. I breathe rapidly when I hear the sound of his zipper. I squeeze my eyes shut when I feel him against me. He presses in slow, and I gasp at the feeling. He starts off slow, teasing, laughing when I beg for more and buck my hips at him.

“Fine,” he growls. “You wanna do all the work, so go ahead.” He flips us over, me on top. “Ride me,” he demands. “Ride me, you pathetic, needy whore.”

I do as he commands, entranced by the sound of his voice. He holds me by my hips, guiding me to the way he likes it. I can feel him throbbing inside me, making me ride faster, desperate and needy and pathetic just like he says. I dig my nails into his shoulders, needing something to hold onto.

“Oh, Eric,” I moan. “You’re so big. You feel so good.”

He grunts, squeezing me. He lets me stay on top for awhile, watching me bounce and moan his name with my head thrown back. I mumble nonsense, practically drooling. Then he roughly grabs my thighs and throws me on my back, thrusting into me so hard I cry out. I grip his shoulders, my eyes rolling to the back of my head. He doesn’t let go of my thighs, having my legs wrap around him. He kisses my mouth, and I struggle to kiss back.

I start crying, not because it hurts, but because he knows exactly how to get me going. He licks up my tears, muttering, “You’re so good, B-Butts. So good.”

Eric has a lotta stamina when it comes to this, and he likes to feel me tremble against him. He likes to watch me cum for him, screaming his name and not caring who hears. He dips his head to my sweaty neck, kissing me there.

I run my hands through his hair, pulling a little. “Oh God, Eric. I-I’m gonna cum—”

The words make him slam into me deep. He’s only thrusted in twice when I cum all over our stomachs, sobbing.

He kisses my face. “You earned it, baby,” he rumbles. “You did good.”

All I can do is nod, trying to get a grip on myself.

He fills me up, moaning, “Fuck, Butters.”

He rides it out, then he pulls out of me. I feel his eyes on me, watching as his cum slowly drips out of me. He lifts my leg, kissing my inner thigh softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up, baby,” he murmurs.

He takes tissues from his bedside table, wiping me and him off. He lifts me up, placing me gently on his pillows. He tucks me in, kissing my forehead. He gets in next to me. He holds me close.

“I love you so much,” he whispers. His soft kisses are wet, and they chase away my tears.

I snuggle into him, sniffling. I kiss his chest. “You called me baby,” I croak. “You also did on that comment. You ain’t ever done that before.”

I feel him nod, nuzzling his nose into my hair. “You’re my baby,” he says. He pecks at my lips. He strokes my hair, his eyes glossy as he stares at me affectionately. “My gorgeous, perfect, precious baby, and you stole my heart and I love you for it. Always.”

“Always,” I repeat, breathless.


	2. Eric Cartman

**Senior year.**

University of Pennsylvania is an Ivy League school. The best of the best get accepted into it. I’m nowhere near the best of the best. But I got accepted. I’m also accepted into University of Boulder. My friends are all going there. Butters is going there.

If I were to attend Pennsylvania, I’d have to move away. I’d only be able to see Butters and my friends over breaks. During any other time of the year, it would be me in a new state with new people, by myself.

But it’s a once in a lifetime chance. Someone like me rarely gets accepted into a school like that.

The sound of sizzling brings me out of my thoughts. I flip the pancake, wincing at the brown underside.

I never thought I’d have to make such a big decision. It used to be simple. I get accepted into Boulder with my friends, we attend, we go to college together, we graduate. We never factored in the option that one of us might debate going to a college that’s a three hour flight away.

We never considered that the “one of us” would be me.

I flip the pancake onto my plate once it’s done. I walk into the living room and hand Butters his own plate. I sit next to him, pressed up close. _Friends_ is on the TV. I can’t bring myself to pay attention though.

My mouth is dry and my heart is pounding when I say, “I’ve made up my mind. About which school I’m going to attend.”

I see how Butters’ throat bobs as he swallows his bite. He blinks up at me. “Which—which one?” he asks.

I lean into him, my energy leaving me. The words are hard to push out as I admit, “I… I think I’m going to tell Boulder I’m not attending.” I feel guilty about it. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty about choosing a college, right?

He’s silent. His eyes slide away from mine to stare at the screen. But he isn’t watching it. Just staring. My stomach plummets. I can tell he isn’t happy with my decision.

“Oh. Th-that’s great, Eric. I’m glad you’ve decided,” he says. But his words fall past his lips without enthusiasm. They’re dry and cold.

I look down at my plate, my cheeks hot. My fork taps against my plate, a steady rhythm over the buzz of the TV. I suck in a shaky breath, explaining, “I—I mean, what are the chances that I get accepted into an Ivy League, you know? I mean, my—my mom never went to college. Most of my family didn’t either. Only, um, some went to community college. But they, you know, they never really made anything of themselves.” A wave of deja vu hits me, leaving me gripping my fork and blinking hard. It’s so strong it makes my head spin. I realize I’m stumbling over my words, my words that sound half-hearted and unsure. Something like an echo in my mind urges me to stop talking, to shut the fuck up, that I’ll totally regret this decision in the future. When I speak, my words are slow and second-guessing. I clear my throat. “And, um, and here I am… given the… the chance to go to one of the best colleges in America. I don’t… uh, I don’t think I can… pass up an opportunity like that… um, like Kyle did. It’s just… a really big… deal. I could be the first in my family to… do something with my… um, life.”

The echo is louder, but there are no words, just this crushing feeling of regret and despair. I put down my plate of pancakes on the coffee table, pressing my fingers into my aching eyes. It’s not the I’m-about-to-cry ache, but a really bad headache ache. The type of headache that makes you dizzy and nauseous. I wince, rubbing my temples. I feel sick almost.

The pain doesn’t subside, but I look at Butters next to me when he doesn’t say anything. He’s still as a statue, only moving to blink. I can see a war going on behind his foggy eyes. I watch as his face contorts. He blinks rapidly, like there’s something in his eye. He does it once more, and then he stares at me, his eyes clear and hard.

My ears ring loudly at that look, like someone’s screaming at me from far away.

“Butters?” I croak.

He blinks again, and his face hardens along with his eyes.

“No.”

He jerks back, like he’s just as startled as me at how sharp and cold his words are. They’re like knives slicing right through me. It doesn’t leave me bleeding, oddly enough. It feels like I’ve been cut from a noose instead, and I’m taking heaving breaths, relieved and grateful.

And in the wake of the word, the echo in my head is cut off abruptly.

I sit up, making my vision swim with stars. I blink them away.

“N-no?” I repeat.

His voice cracks. “No.” He puts his plate on the table next to mine, squeezing my wrists. His eyes are big and determined and blue, searching mine. “No. I don’t wanna lose you. Eric, I’m beyond happy that you got accepted into Pennsylvania, but—but I just love you too much to lose you. I wanna be happy for you and your choice, but I—I _can’t._ I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to go.”

My throat croaks when I open my mouth, waiting for words to come to me. When I find them, they sound small and weak. “But, Butters. This is about my future.”

The determination shatters, replaced by a fire igniting in his eyes. He snaps, “And it’s also about _our_ future. What about that, huh? What about all our promises? Are we just gonna throw ‘em out the window ‘cause you wanna go to an Ivy League hours away? The school doesn’t determine your _success_ in life, Eric. You could go to Pennsylvania, sure, but you’d be all alone. You’d have to completely start over. You might not even get where you wanna go just ‘cause of the school!”

My mouth gapes, speechless. I find myself leaning into him to kiss it better, but he jerks away. He jerks completely out of my reach. He stands up, towering over me.

“Are you even listening to me?!” he exclaims. When I open my mouth to reply, he shakes his head. He scoffs. His face is disgusted. “You can go ahead and go to your Ivy League. But it’s either that or me.”

He marches over to the front door and throws it open. Winter wind blows in. It’s drizzling outside, but that doesn’t stop him. He leaves the house and steps into the rain.

I shoot to my feet, running after him. The rain is cold as ice and starting to come down harder. I shiver, goosebumps forming on my arms. “Butters, wait!” I call. I jog toward him, grabbing his wrist.

He snatches his hand from mine, not sparing me a glance back. He doesn’t say anything either. I catch up to him. I stare at the side of his face. His lips are pressed into a thin, scowling line. He starts walking faster, getting ahead of me until he’s a foot in front of me. His shoulders are tense with anger. His wet hair is plastered to the back of his neck.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to retain some warmth. My clothes cling to me uncomfortably. It hits me that we’re still in our pajamas, and we’re both barefoot, soaked through with chilling cold December rain. The pavement is like walking on ice, and the snow on lawns are melting. It doesn’t usually rain in December. “B-Butts, stop. Come back inside. We can talk this over,” I say.

He keeps walking.

And I keep following.

The sounds of our footsteps are washed away by the rain.

I reach out to touch his shoulder, but he sidesteps me.

I can hear and feel it when the sky opens up wider, and the rain comes down harder, sheets of freezing cold. My hair drips into my eyes. I push my bangs from my face. My voice is begging when I say, “B-Butts, please. We can come to a conclusion together. Like we always do. Let’s just go home where it’s dry and warm. C’mon. It’s pouring, and it’s cold. You’ll get sick.”

Butters quickens his steps, but I match him. I stay at his heels, pleading for him to come back to my place.

I’m shaking like crazy, and he’s so mad he looks like he’s trembling in rage, and not because of the wet and cold. His hands are balled into fists at his sides.

I look around, my eyes narrowed so I can see through the rain and the blur of my vision. It’s raining so hard that I can’t even see ten feet in front of me, and it doesn’t help that I don’t have my glasses either. We’re three houses away from mine now. I squint ahead, making out the bus stop. On the other side of the bus stop is Avenue de Los Mexicanos—his street, the street I used to live on.

“Butters, c’mon. Please,” I beg.

My only response is an irritated huff.

He powers right past the bus stop. His feet slap against the wet sidewalk. My steps slow to a halt. My teeth are chattering. I’m too cold to go further. And maybe it’s best if I let him have this. It’s better for him to cool down.

I watch him go, his feet stomping and his fists trembling. I stand there in the pouring cold rain until he walks so far I can no longer see him.

Dejected and alone, I walk back the way I came with my tail between my legs.

I return home, leaning against the door, relishing the warmth of the house. Rainwater drips from me. I’m creating a puddle on the floor. I run my hand through my wet hair, glancing at the barely touched pancakes on the coffee table. They’re probably cold by now. Back in the summer before eighth grade, Mom and I moved in with Clyde and his dad after Mom and Roger got married. It’s been five years since we first moved in.

I trudge upstairs, locking myself in the bathroom. I run the shower until it’s warm. I peel my wet clothes from my skin, dropping them into a heap on the floor. I step into the shower.

Maybe going to Pennsylvania isn’t such a good idea.

During my shower, I mostly stand there in the warm water instead of getting clean. I stand there and battle with myself, endlessly wondering if I should go to UPenn or Boulder.

I find myself saying, “You’re gonna regret it if you go away.”

My only response is the sound of the water hitting the floor of the shower.

“But it’s an Ivy League. Those schools usually have a less than twenty percent acceptance rate. They’re not easy to get into. But you managed to get in,” I tell myself. “Ten-year-old me would be so disappointed. Hell, even fourteen-year-old me would smack you upside the head for being so stupid. Fourteen-year-old me would take you by the shoulders and shout at you that you’re an idiot for wanting school over Butters. You hated school.” I scrub shampoo through my hair. “But ever since elementary, you thought you’d barely pass high school and get into a community college, _hopefully._ At best. But now look at you. You’re accepted into an Ivy League.” I rinse out the suds. “Butters is the reason you did better in school in the first place. He gave you encouragement where you never had it before.” I move onto conditioner. “But you could be the first in your family to go to college in a long time. And not just any college. An Ivy League. One of the top schools in America. Shit, you could make family history. You could be the one future kids in the Cartman family look up to. _You_ never had someone to look up to.” I stop massaging conditioner through my hair. I muse, “Maybe that’s why I grew up so twisted. I didn’t have any good role models.”

Butters’ words drift back to me: _You might not even get where you wanna go just ‘cause of the school!_

“He’s right. You know it,” I say. “You could graduate from Pennsylvania, and you could still end up useless like the rest of your family. If anything, you’d be worse than useless. You’d have a degree from Pennsylvania, and still have nothing to do with your life. Butters has always been your source of inspiration and motivation. What if you attend Pennsylvania and end up losing all that because he’s not there to encourage you? At least if you went to Boulder, you’d have your friends and family and _Butters._ You wouldn’t have that there all the way in Pennsylvania.”

I leave off the conversation with myself there, feeling too conflicted to think about it further. I finish showering. I dry off, scrubbing my towel over myself until my skin is red. I go into my room and change into dry clothes. I pull my hat over my head even if my hair is still damp. I push my glasses onto my nose. I go into the living room to pick up mine and Butters’ plates from the coffee table. I toss our half eaten pancakes into the trash.

After that fight out in the rain, I’m not hungry anymore. The twisting in my gut is too strong.

I put the plates in the sink, letting water run over them. Then faucet is off. The counter is cool against my forehead. I wanna slam my forehead against it repeatedly to knock some sense into me, but I’m too drained.

I hear footsteps stop in the kitchen doorway.

I turn my head, seeing Dad standing there, staring at me with furrowed eyebrows.

“You okay, kiddo?” he asks.

The hazy sight of Butters walking away from me in the back of my mind makes my heart kick angrily at my ribs.

My voice cracks when I admit, “No.”

He moves closer to me, putting a hand on my back. “You wanna talk about it?”

I run my lip through my teeth. “If you were young… and in love… but were faced with this really big, life changing decision that required you to move away, what would you choose? The person you love, or the life changing decision?”

My voice sounds broken.

Dad takes a deep breath in, eyes flicking up to the ceiling. “Well,” he starts. He looks back down at me. He has this look on his face that tells me he knows exactly what I’m referencing. “It depends on how much you love that person, I’d say. If you could see yourself starting a life with them, then maybe choose them. But if you see yourself benefiting from this big decision more than the other, then I’d go with that. If that person really loves you, they’ll understand whatever decision you choose. Either way, you lose something. It’s just about which loss you think will affect you more.”

I cough, a croaky dry sound. I say nothing.

Dad looks me in the eye. “But to be honest, education is always at the tip of your fingers. You have access to it whenever you want. Your generation is lucky that way. But a love like yours isn’t something you come across every day. What you two have is real.”

With that, he walks out of the kitchen.

I prop myself up on my elbows, sighing and running my hands through my hair under my hat.

Then Dad walks back in. “Sorry, I forgot I actually had a purpose of coming down here,” he says.

I laugh, pushing up my glasses to scrub the heels of my palms over my eyes despite them being dry.

“Oh, you made pancakes. Very nice,” he says, taking a plate from the cupboard and piling it high.

I stand up straight. “Thanks, Dad,” I say. “I really needed that.”

He flashes me a smile, putting his plate in the microwave and setting it to twenty-five seconds. “Of course. I was pretty lost when I had to choose between opening up my own store, or keeping the same office job I’d had for years. My office job paid well, but I wasn’t happy. I’d always wanted to open up a shop of my own, so when the opportunity came, I was at a crossroads. It was choose what I want, but it’s gonna take a while to take off, or keep my job I already had, and hate every waking day. In the end, I chose what I knew what would make me happy, even if it wasn’t as financially appealing as my office job in the beginning.”

I laugh breathlessly. He comes over and tugs at my bangs. When the microwave beeps and he goes to get his breakfast, I walk out of the kitchen.

Dad’s right. I should choose where I can see myself happiest. And some weird gut feeling tells me it won’t be with UPenn.

I take my phone from my hoodie pocket. I go into my Gmail, finding the acceptance letter from UPenn. They’d sent me a paper one and an email a few days after the letter, which was kind of weird.

I read through the email one last time.

Then I decline the offer.

I shove my feet into my Converse. I put my hand on the front door. I call towards the kitchen, “I’m going out for a while, Dad.”

He responds, “Okay. Bring an umbrella. It looks nasty outside.”

I don’t bring an umbrella. I pull my hood over my hat instead. I leave my house, stuffing my hands in my pockets. Through the pouring rain, I run down the sidewalk past Craig’s house, then Henrietta’s, and then Jimmy’s, back to the bus stop. There’s a woman sitting under the overhang with her umbrella held close to her. She stares at me wide-eyed as I rush past. I must look crazy being umbrella-less in the December rain in nothing but a Teddy Fresh hoodie, sweatpants, Converse, and glasses speckled by rain.

I slow to a walk. I take my phone from my pocket and send Butters a text. I tell him I’m coming over. My screen shifts, but it’s so obscured by rain that I have to wipe it on my leg, which isn’t very effective. But under my text, I see that he read it.

“Bitch,” I mutter. He knows I hate it when he leaves me on read.

I send him another text, saying: **i know u saw that text. u better fuckn reply**

He doesn’t. He sees it, but he doesn’t reply.

\- **please**

\- **cmon dont do me like this**

\- **bro reply**

\- **ok fine be a petty bitch. im still coming over**

I get to Butters’ house, knocking on the door. The driveway is empty. I wonder where his parents went. It’s Saturday. They don’t have work.

The door stays closed, so I knock again. Still nothing.

“Figures,” I mutter to myself.

I look around, searching for some way to get to him. It’s too wet to attempt to climb up to his window, so I rule that out. Texting him isn’t working, so calling won’t either. I left his key at home, which was stupid of me. I could try to get in through the back door, but I don’t feel like hopping the fence and breaking the lock.

Under the bushes in front of the house are pebbles. I scoop some into my hand, backpedaling so I can see his window.

I pull my arm back, rolling the pebble between my fingers. I throw it, and it hits his window.

Nothing.

I take another pebble and throw it at the window again. I continue to do this until I’m out. I go back to the bush and pick up more.

Maybe he can’t hear it over the rain.

Okay, that’s bullshit. I can even hear it from down here in the rain. He’s just blatantly ignoring me. I reel my arm back, screaming, “Hey, Butters!” I throw the pebble. “I love you!” I throw another. “I love you, and you can’t do anything to change that! _Because I love you!”_

I stay standing outside his window in the pouring rain, screaming “I love you” each time I throw a pebble.

I see a flash of movement from the corner of my eye. It comes from my old house. I look towards it. A face looks out, frowning at me. I flip her off and go back to trying to get Butters’ attention.

I lift my arm, getting ready to throw another pebble. But right as I’m about to, his window blows open and his head pops out. He scowls down at me. “You said wanna go, so go! Leave! Just pack your bags already, and fly to Pennsylvania!” he shouts.

I open my mouth to tell him that _Actually, I changed my mind because I decided I wanna be closer to you so we can continue this awesome thing we have going on,_ but he doesn’t let me speak. “No! Don’t you start with all your sweet talk! There ain’t _nothin’_ you can say to make this right! I don’t need you! So leave! I mean it! I _really_ mean it this time, Eric Theodore Cartman! _I mean it!”_ he roars. He’s so mad that he’s breathing heavily through his gritted teeth.

I pick up my jaw. I lower my arm and drop the pebbles. I shove my hands into my wet hoodie pocket. I smile up at him against the rain, not showing my teeth. “Do you?”

He blinks down at me. I can see the anger slowly fade from his face. The tension leaves him. His shoulders slump and his face falls to blankness.

Just when I think he’ll smile back, he slams the windows shut. I stand there in shock, my mouth agape and collecting rainwater.

Twenty seconds later, the front door opens and Butters rushes out. He’s immediately drenched. He shoves me back, making me stumble. But I grin at him stupidly because I got him to come down.

He shoves me again. He grabs the collar of my hoodie in his fists. He snaps, “You’re stupid. And I hate you.” He glares daggers at me.

I smirk at him, bringing my face closer to his until our noses almost touch. “You know, if you weren’t so cute, that might just be more effective,” I purr.

And then I slam my lips to his. He reciprocates not even a heartbeat later, instantly melting into me. His hands gripping my hoodie loosen and slide around my shoulders. He tilts his head, and I kiss him deeper, savoring the way he tastes. He’s so warm, so unlike the rain we stand kissing in.

Before, I never understood what was so romantic about kissing in the rain. But I think I get it now.

“I changed my mind,” I mumble against his mouth. “It’s not worth it. You were right when you said me choosing a college is about both of our futures, and not just mine.”

He kisses me softly. “I really am happy that you got into such a prestigious school,” he says. Water drips from his eyelashes. His eyes are so blue. Even his scarred and milky left eye has traces of the ice blue that’s in his right. He cups my cheeks, rubbing his thumbs against my skin. “But I dunno what I’d do if you moved away. I understand that you were excited about it. It’s a big deal. But sometimes the option that seems greater ain’t always the best.”

I nod, pressing his body flush against mine. I murmur, “I’d choose you over anything in the world. You should know that.”

He bites his lip, smiling, before he leans forward and kisses me again in the pouring rain.


	3. Eric Cartman

**Senior year.**

“Kenny told me she broke up with him,” Butters tells me over the music.

My hands are in the back pockets of his pants, his arms around my shoulders as we sway to the music. But “EARFQUAKE” isn’t the song to be swaying to like it’s some slow song or whatever. Especially with the whole venue screaming the words. I swear I saw this one dude drop to the floor when Playboi Carti raps in cursive. That might’ve been Clyde. It’s hard to tell with all these people around.

“Shit, really? Just now? That sucks,” I say over the music and the shouting.

He’s telling me about how Kenny came up to him, explaining how Henrietta broke up with him. During prom. You can break up with a person in a lot of shitty ways, but doing it at prom is one of the worst. It’s worse than breaking up with someone the week, or even day, before prom. At least then you can come up with an excuse for the absence of your date. It’s harder to do it when the person breaks up with you during the actual thing. It’s weird too, because Kenny and Henrietta were on really good terms. She was Kenny’s longest relationship.

“Yeah. Poor Kenny,” Butters says, putting his head on my shoulder. I take my hands from his pockets to hold him tighter. I tuck my face into the crook of his neck.

The music that’s been playing is pretty wack. Most of it is old stuff that plays at every school dance, like “Cha Cha Slide,” which made me roll my eyes while I lazily did what the song instructed. I only did it because Butters was making me. I wonder if the DJ’s taking requests, because I’m pretty sick of “Old Town Road.” It’s been played twice already. “Lay All Your Love On Me” was even played at one point, which was out of place as fuck considering the borderline strip club music the DJ’s been playing.

I both love and hate how Butters can dance well. It distracts onlookers from my lack of talent, but it brings the attention in the first place. Butters doesn’t seem fazed by the music at all. He’s never been much of a complainer.

I roll my eyes at him. There’s a small circle gathered around him as people watch him go. I scoff when he locks eyes with me and jerks his chin at me. He dances his way over to me, taking my hands and dragging me to the middle of the circle.

“No, B-Butts,” I say. “I don’t dance.”

He smirks at me. “Well, you do for me.” He shimmies his shoulders.

I stare at him quizzically, grinning, because what the fuck does he mean by that? The situation says one thing, but his smirk says another.

His hands slide to my forearms, then my shoulders. He pulls himself closer to me, something heavy and glimmering in his eyes. Then he’s leading me in a salsa or something, pushing me this way and that. The people around us whistle and cheer. Butters tilts his head, sticking his tongue out like a thot.

I scoff at him. I bend my head towards him, pressing my tongue against his. Someone in the circle says, “Oooh, damn.”

As soon as I have control over the kiss, I have control over Butters. I push his hips to mine. I feel him hum at it, my hands splayed on his lower back. Someone whistles again.

The night continues on with me and Butters dancing and grinding to whatever the DJ decides to play, because at this point, I’ve stopped caring. A few teacher volunteers have yelled at us and a few other people for grinding, but every time one of them has something to say, I tell them, “Then maybe tell the DJ to put on some good fucking music.” And if they continue to glare even after I tell them that, I bend Butters over and grind on him like I’m about to fuck him right there on the dance floor. I don’t break eye contact with them as I roll into Butters’ ass. That usually makes the chaperones turn away and cling to the walls.

But right now, there’s a teacher who’s glaring back at me, even with Butters bent over like a stipper, shaking his ass against me. Butters even moans for effect, but the teacher doesn’t bat an eye. Then I loudly sing the song playing, _“Bottoms up, bottoms up,”_ and the teacher blinks. The glare is gone. It’s replaced by a look of cringe. He backs away, his head hanging between his shoulders.

I double over in laughter. Butters stands straight, laughing too. We high five each other. I don’t let go of his hand, using it to spin him back around, my other hand on his hip.

Grinding reminds me of the homecoming dance in sophomore year. Tweek and Craig dared us to grind on each other for ten dollars. They fired me and Butters up, leaving us horny all night after that. We made out in the hallway. Seeing the lipstick he was wearing smudged all over his face was amusing, and for a brief second, I understood why straight dudes felt satisfactory after messing up their girlfriends’ makeup. Butters was dressed as Marjorine that night. We went home early, not even bothering to stick around to hear the winner of the costume contest. We dry humped on my bed in our underwear, and it was fucking awesome.

But then the music lowers, and the DJ says into his mic, “There’s only a few more minutes before prom king and queen will be announced. So take out your phones, head onto the school website, and get your votes in!”

The music gets loud again.

Butters stops moving and gasps. “Oh shoot! We haven’t voted. And Bebe and Clyde are one of the nominees.”

There are three nominees for both king and queen. Stan and Clyde and Jimmy are up for prom king. Bebe, Wendy, and some other chick are the nominees for prom queen. Everyone already knows Bebe and Clyde will win. Stan, Jimmy, and Wendy don’t give a shit about winning, openly expressing it too. In the school paper last week, Annie interviewed the prom court about how they felt about being nominated. Stan, Jimmy, and Wendy said they were honored, but that they were still going to vote for Bebe and Clyde, and that everyone else should too. Bebe and Clyde said they were excited for it, and that they felt honored to be nominated. And the other chick was the only one who was convinced _she_ would win.

“I mean, me and the guys already submitted ten votes each for Clyde and Bebe since there’s no limit. But another time wouldn’t hurt,” I say.

Butters and I take out our phones and vote for Bebe and Clyde. Butters asks, “Do you think Bethanie has any chance of winning?”

“Is _that_ what her name is? I had no idea who the fuck she was until she was nominated, to be honest,” I say.

He laughs, putting a kiss on my mouth. His hips press into mine, resuming our grinding. I keep my tongue in his mouth though.

As promised, a few minutes later, the music lowers to a murmur. One of the vice principals are on the stage at the front of the ballroom with the spotlight on her. She holds the microphone to her mouth. “Get close, everyone.” The crowd draws in. I put my hands around Butters’ waist, his back flush against my chest. “All right, for our prom kings: please come up on stage. First, Clyde Donovan.”

The screams are loud, and I make sure I shout so loud that my voice cracks as Clyde gets up on stage, beaming. He waves to the crowd.

“That’s my brother!” I shout.

Vice Principal Cho continues, “Stan Marsh.”

More cheers, and Kyle’s “Go, Stan!”

The football team hoots for their quarterback.

“Jimmy Valmer.”

The cheers Jimmy gets are the loudest. He salutes to the crowd. I mainly think he does it to flex his muscles under his thin white button-down, because it’s the girls’ shrill shrieks that threaten my ears to start bleeding.

VP Cho says, “And now for the prom queens. Ladies, come and stand next to the boys. Bethanie Dennis.”

Bethanie goes up onto the stage, overconfident. She stands too close to Jimmy, their shoulders brushing. Annie in front of us with Nichole and the other girls turns to look at them with her mouth agape.

“Bethanie shouldn’t’ve done that,” says Butters.

I nod. “She’s a hoe.”

Butters snorts, but I can see it in his pale blue eyes that he agrees.

“Bebe Stevens,” VP Cho says.

The cheers Bebe gets are also loud. She floats up onto stage, already every bit of a queen. Unlike Bethanie who carries herself like she _knows_ she’s going to win, Bebe keeps her shoulders back and her smile modest as she stands next to Clyde, connecting their hands.

“And Wendy Testaburger.”

I boo, but the cheers drown it out.

Butters whacks me in disapproval. I laugh. “Boo, Wendy, boo,” I say in his ear.

He rolls his eyes.

I bite down on his ear, squeezing his hips.

VP Cho flourishes a hand to the six on stage. “Give a round of applause for your prom court!”

Everyone claps. Vice Principal Cho takes one of the envelopes she’s holding and sticks her thumb under the flap. “And our prom king is…” She opens the envelope, taking out a card. She says, “Clyde Donovan!”

Wow, real shocker.

The cheers all blend into one, deafening sound.

The same teacher volunteer who was glaring at me and Butters for grinding steps forward and crowns Clyde. Stan and Jimmy pat him on the back, grinning wider than he is. They walk off stage except for Clyde. He stays on the side to wait for the queen to be announced.

“Quiet down, quiet down,” VP Cho says. “All three of these prom queen nominees are absolutely beautiful tonight. The tiara doesn’t determine beauty or status, let me just remind you. We had an issue last year where the girls who didn’t win tackled the winner, and it was a mess.” The crowd chuckles. “Anyway.” VP Cho opens another envelope. “And your prom queen is—drumroll, please.”

Everyone stomps their feet.

After a beat, Vice Principal Cho exclaims, “Bebe Stevens!”

Bebe doesn’t do what the winning prom queens do in the movies. She doesn’t clap her hands over her mouth as she starts to tear up. She smiles and accepts the tiara placed on her head instead. Wendy hugs her, and Bethanie just gapes.

Bebe’s excitement shines through when she bounds over to Clyde to kiss him. The royal couple stands at the center of the stage, holding each other and grinning as someone from Yearbook snaps pictures of them.

Bethanie storms off stage, and Butters disapproves of how I throw my head back laughing.

“Don’t be such a hypocrite,” I say to him. I chuck his chin as he fights off a smirk. “You’re glad she lost too.”

He crosses his arms. “No,” he says. He tilts his nose up to the ceiling. “I’m happy Bebe _won.”_

I give him a look. “Sure, B-Butts.”

Bebe and Clyde return to our group after their pictures get taken. Bebe gestures to her tiara. “I’m a queen,” she says.

“Wearing a tiara from Claire’s. Congrats,” Red jokes.

Tweek hanging off Craig’s arm fist bumps Clyde.

“It’s better than Clyde’s dollar store crown,” Craig says, flicking Clyde’s crown askew.

Clyde scoffs, grinning wide. He narrows his eyes at Craig. “Hey. Respect your king.”

Bebe puts her chin on Clyde’s shoulder and kisses his cheek. He kisses her mouth. They smile at each other.

I glance at Butters, who just shrugs and takes me by the hands. He drags me back to the dance floor. I feel like the night’s just starting to get somewhat better when I hear the opening of “Poker Face.”

Butters and I trade a smirk, our heads nodding to the beat.


	4. Butters Stotch

**Senior year.**

I’ve heard from previous seniors that the senior goodbye rally always manages to make some cry, what with the goodbye video and all. After making our grand entrance of coming into the gym as a stream of students on each other’s shoulders, dressed in simple costumes, or dancing their way up to the bleachers, we return to the gym floor so we can watch the goodbye video.

I sit next to Eric, scooting up close. He puts his arm around me. The lights in the gym dim until they’re off. The video on the screen begins to play. It starts off with a title screen of our graduating year with music playing in the background. Then it cuts to Mr. Lee explaining what he’ll miss most about our class.

“I think I’ll miss how funny you all were. Sure, you were a bit out of hand at times, but you managed to make my day more enjoyable.”

I lean over to Eric’s ear and whisper, “I’m gonna miss Mr. Lee. He was a good teacher.”

Eric whispers back, “I’ll take your word for it since I didn’t have Calculus.”

We trade a smile, a smile that he cuts off by kissing my mouth.

Once the teachers are outta the way, the underclassmen show up on screen, shouting out the seniors they know. I dunno most of them, and the people they’re shouting out sound familiar. I can’t connect a name to a face though.

But then Craig’s sister Tricia, along with Karen, Ike, and Firkle pop up on screen. Everyone in the gym kinda whoops at the group. Because Tricia, Karen, and Ike are siblings of three of the most popular boys in school (our whole group’s considered popular for whatever reason) they’re pretty well known themselves.

Tricia says, “I wanna shout-out my brother, Craig, and his boyfriend, Tweek.” The girl population of the gym erupts into cheers at the mention of Tweek and Craig’s names. “Have fun in California, you—” The last part gets bleeped, but I gotta feeling it wasn’t a sweet nickname. She also flips off the camera in Tucker fashion, and that gets blurred. Tricia continues, “But at least I have Clyde, Token, Jimmy, and Red and Kevin still.”

Ike says, “And I wanna shout-out my brother Kyle, and Stan and Eric. I’m gonna miss you guys.” I squeeze Eric’s hand when I catch his name shouted in the crowd among Stan and Kyle’s. “At least you guys can come visit me. Unlike Ruby,” Ike continues. He nudges her with his elbow. Tricia lightly pushes him, and Ike shoots her a grin.

Some freshmen wolf-whistle from their section of the bleachers. I twist around and search the bleachers for Ike’s group. He’s sitting next to Tricia with his arm slung around her shoulders. On the row below them are Karen and Firkle pressed up close. Near them’s Dougie. I try to wave to catch his attention, but he can’t see me.

I give up shortly after the person behind me looks at me like I’m some kinda stupid.

On the screen, Firkle deadpans, “I’ll see you on the other side, Pete and Henrietta.”

There’s something ominous about that statement.

The camera swivels to Karen clinging onto Firkle’s arm. “I wanna shout-out my brother, Kenny. I’ll miss not having you around all the time. Have fun in college though!”

Then the shot pans around to Dougie holding the camera. I yelp in surprise. Dougie beams. “And I wanna shout-out Butters for letting me be his sidekick ever since first grade. Keep in touch, Chaos.” He salutes at the camera, and my hand twitches to salute back. I only refrain because I remember that this is a video, and if I do, I really _will_ be some kinda stupid.

He gets a shot of all five of them. At the same time, they exclaim, “Good luck, guys! We’ll miss you!”

The video cuts to a group of sophomores shouting out other seniors.

Eric says into my ear, “Didn’t Tricia and Dougie date for awhile when the were in middle school?”

“Yeah, they did,” I say. “Seventh grade, I think it was.”

Eric snorts.

I let go of his hand to wrap my arms around his neck. “What’s the matter with that? We started everythin’ in seventh grade,” I remind him.

He rolls his eyes at me, kissing my scar. “I know, idiot.”

Once the shout-outs are over, it cuts to a few groups of seniors stating which college they got accepted into. When our group of ten pops up, I cringe upon seeing myself on the screen. I’m not doing anything embarrassing, I just don’t like seeing me up there, knowing everyone else in the school can see me too. I’m doing nothing but sitting at our lunch table, paying attention to whoever speaks.

Tweek gestures to him and Craig. “We’re going to UCLA,” he says.

Token says, “Me, Jimmy, and Clyde got into University of Denver.”

Kyle says, “The rest of us got into Boulder.”

“To spite them,” Kenny adds with a grin, pointing to Those Guys.

Then our group is gone, and the girls are up, telling the camera which college they got into. I hear Clyde a few people in front of us hoot for Bebe when she declares she’s going to University of Denver with Clyde.

Things get real sentimental after that, showcasing a bunch of candid videos and pictures of us seniors. I feel myself start to tear up when I see our whole group, with Craig and Those Guys, Stan’s gang, and Wendy and the girls. It hits me that this will be the last time in a while that we’ll all be together. I have to bite my lip hard when I see a picture of me under Eric’s arm sitting at our lunch table.

The video comes to a close with a text screen wishing our class good luck. I’ve managed not to cry, but I hear a few people sniffle. Right before the video ends, Eric pops up on the screen alone. He’s standing in front of the wall of the cafeteria.

Surprised, I give him a light shove. He suppresses giggles. I shoot him a look of confusion. Eric never giggles.

Up on the screen, he says, “And remember, kids: premarital sex is a sin.”

Then the video ends with a hard cut right before Eric’s about to start laughing.

The gym bursts into laughter with me. I nudge Eric, who’s grinning like an idiot.

From where Kyle’s sitting, he shouts loudly, “But I thought Cartman’s been having premarital sex with Butters since they were, like, sixteen?”

Our half of the gym catches it, and they laugh harder. I even hear someone _Oooh._

Eric stands up. He fights a grin. His cheeks are pink. Everyone sitting on the gym floor looks up at him. A hush falls over the gym. They’re holding their breath to see what he’ll do. Eric’s still got a reputation for being lethal when crossed.

But then Eric recites, “ ‘What the _fuck_ is up, _Kyle?_ No, what did you _say,_ dude—what the _fuck_ , dude? Step the fuck up, _Kyle.’ ”_

And then the whole gym’s laughing again. I crane my head above the others. I see Kyle clutching his stomach, laughing hard.

Everyone on the gym floor returns to the bleachers to watch the ASB members metaphorically hand down their positions to the new members. As we climb the steps, I say to Eric, “Why didn’t you point out that Kyle first fucked Heidi when they were fifteen, and that he shoves his head between her legs and lets her ride his tongue every night? Or that he fucks her so hard that she comes to school lookin’ like a visual representation of that Ariana Grande song, walkin’ side to side and all.”

Eric gapes at me, but then he grins. “Well goddamn, B-Butts. That’s pretty tough.” He pauses. “I _should’ve_ said that, huh?”

I smile at him as we sit down.

After school ends, Eric holds my hand as he leads me to his car. I let go so I can get into the passenger seat. Once we’re in the car, though, I pick up his hand again, lacing our fingers.

Eric backs out and starts down the road home.

“So guess what?” he says.

“What?”

“Remember when you were fifteen-and-a-half, and we went to the DMV so you could get your permit? And then the person said you couldn’t because you could only see clearly out of one eye?” he asks.

“Course I remember,” I say. “That sucked. We waited so long to get there, only to be sent away.”

Eric glances at me, grinning. “Well, turns out the dude was wrong. You can still drive, even with one eye. You have to have at least twenty-forty vision in either or both eyes, and you do. Not counting your left. And you have perfect vision in your right eye. You’re probably gonna have a few restrictions though. Like the left side view mirror.”

I sit up, sharing his grin. “Really?”

I’ve always wanted to drive. Eric taught me as he was learning to drive. I even took the online Driver’s Ed course with him. We sat on his couch with our laptops on our stomachs as we did it. So when we found out I wouldn’t be able to drive, we were both disappointed. Even though I don’t have my license, Eric still has me drive short distances for an emergency, he says.

“How could he’ve gotten that wrong?” I wonder.

Eric shrugs. “It’s the DMV. They’re shitheads.” He slows to a stop at a red light. “So I was thinking. We could have you practice a bit, and if you feel confident enough, maybe we could go over to the DMV today and get your license. The sooner the better, you know?”

I squeeze his hand, beaming. “I’m ready.”

“Good. So, when you turn off a high-speed, two-lane roadway, and you have traffic following you, what do you do?” he quizzes.

“You don’t slow down too quickly. You use your signals,” I answer.

He nods. “Okay. When should you turn on your high beams?”

“In the open country at night or on dark city streets.”

Eric continues to quiz me until we get to the old drive-ins. I roll down the window, poking my head out into the summer air. The screens are torn up and brown with disuse and age. There’s trash littering the ground, and a few crows trot about. The trees surrounding the drive-ins rustle in the breeze.

“We haven’t been here in years,” I say.

Eric agrees, “Yeah. We really haven’t.”

We stopped going over to the U-Stor-It at sixteen, but we stopped coming to the abandoned drive-ins at fifteen.

Eric and I trade places—me in the driver’s seat, him in the passenger’s. I start driving around the empty drive-in. Eric reclines his seat. He turns on the radio, turning it up. He tucks an arm under his head, mumbling along to the song.

I laugh at his relaxed composure.

“What?” he says.

“I don’t think _other_ driving teachers just sit back and relax,” I point out.

He shrugs, battling a smirk. “I’m not a driving teacher. I’m your boyfriend. And that’s _way_ worse.”

“Hey!” I protest, lightly smacking his shoulder.

He laughs. He takes my hand and kisses my fingers.

After thirty minutes of going around driving and braking and parking in the empty spaces, Eric tells me to go onto the road. Since nobody comes to the drive-ins anymore, the road leading up to it’s almost always empty. Eric has me parallel park and change lanes and all that stuff.

After another hour, he says, “Yeah, you’re good.”

We switch seats. He drives us back to my house to get a few things, then to the DMV. We go in, seeing that even though it’s a Friday at six, it’s still packed. Eric groans as we get into line. He slumps into me. He rolls his head onto my shoulder, taking his phone from his pocket. He offers me one of his earbuds. I put one in as he plays a video.

I only pay half-attention. I find myself stroking Eric’s hair from his face more often than not. He needs a haircut soon. His hair’s beginning to fall into his eyes.

It’s hours later when I’ve finally passed my test and everything. I show Eric my temporary license as we walk out of the DMV with his arm around me.

“I look bad,” I say.

We stare down at my picture. My smile looks awkward, and my hair’s all windblown. I look real pale too.

Eric laughs. “I think it’s rare for someone to have a _good_ picture on their ID. It must be some DMV curse,” he jokes.

I smile, scrunching up my nose. “I’m driving,” I say, getting into the driver’s seat.

Eric leans on the door, speaking through the window. “Go ahead. But you know you can’t have a passenger under twenty-one for the first six months you obtain your license, right?”

I stick my tongue out at him. He smirks. “You didn’t follow that rule,” I say.

He gets into the car. “The difference is that I’ve mastered not getting caught.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ve known you since we were four. So that’s fourteen years I’ve known you. I’ve seen how you do things, and I know how to not get caught either.” I smile sweetly at him. “And you’d never let me get caught anyway.”

He scoffs, but then he grins. “That’s true.”


	5. Butters Stotch

**Senior year.**

The sound of the garage opening below interrupts the quiet of my room. It sends that familiar shock of cold fear through me. Eric sighs deeply against my forehead, ruffling my hair. He looks at the clock that reads 11:02 p.m. He sits up. My blankets fall around his waist. He untangles himself from me. I hate how he has to do it. It leaves me empty and cold without his arms. He leans over the side of the bed to gather his clothes. I watch him pull his shirt over his head. He puts on his boxers next. He’s about to pick up his jeans, but I grab his wrist. He looks up at me.

“Don’t go,” I whisper. My voice is fragmented with desperation.

In the darkness of my room, his brows furrow. “I have to.”

Whenever Eric comes over to my house, we usually plan it so him and my parents don’t cross paths. My parents don’t like him. He doesn’t like them. I usually have him over when they’re at work or doing something that’ll keep them outta the house for a few hours. Even though it’s a Tuesday night, they were out late. They weren’t out together, I don’t think. Dad was out at the bathhouse again, presumably. Mom was probably sobbing to her friends about it.

But tonight, I need him to be here. I don’t want him to go. I can’t watch him disappear out the window into the dead of night.

“Please. Just stay,” I beg. I slide my hand into his. I intertwine our fingers.

Downstairs, I hear the front door unlock.

Eric searches my eyes, then my face, then the rest of my body. Instead of getting up and sneaking out through the window like he usually does, he gets back into bed. He lays half on top of me. His face is buried in my neck.

I slide my arms under his, clutching the back of his shirt. I pinch my eyes shut. I can hear footsteps coming up the stairs. It’s Mom. I can tell by the pace of the steps.

Eric breathes shallowly as the footsteps near. I keep my eyes closed and my face relaxed. I do my best to give the impression I’m still asleep.

My bedroom door opens. Light from the hallway falls across my eyelids. I can feel Mom examining me and the mess on my bed. Eric’s laying on top of me in his T-shirt and boxers. Then me, naked aside from my twisted-up blankets covering my lower half. And with the hallway light falling across us, the hickeys on our necks are exposed, along with my clothes discarded on the floor next to Eric’s jeans.

My heart beats rapidly in my chest. The back of my neck breaks out in sweat.

But then the door closes.

I let out a breath. I didn’t realize I was holding one in. Eric shifts us onto our sides. He meets my eyes. “She saw us,” he whispers.

“I know,” I whisper back. I smooth down his cowlick. It pops right back up. “And nothin’ happened.”

He scoots closer. My face is on his shoulder. His nose is in my hair. He pets the back of my neck hypnotically. It lulls me to sleep.

Waking up with Eric next to me the following morning’s a rare occurrence, if not one I cherish. I kiss his jaw, and he groans as he comes out of sleep.

“Get up. We gotta go to school,” I whisper.

His groan turns frustrated. “Fuck school,” he grumbles.

I laugh. “Eric, it’s the end of May. We only have two weeks left.”

“Yeah. And it’s finals, and that sucks.”

I help him sit up, and he slumps into me. I wrap my arms around him. “But then after that’s the senior picnic and graduation practice, then graduation. Then we’re free.”

He huffs. He pulls back far enough to kiss me. His lips are still soft with sleep. “What time is it?” he asks against my mouth.

I glance at my clock. “Six-thirty. Now get up. For real this time, Eric. We gotta go.”

“You said that already,” he says.

We share the sink as we brush our teeth in the mirror. He brushes lazily. I brush quickly. I kick him out after we wash our faces so I can pee.

“Hurry. I have to go too,” he says from the other side of the door.

“I can only go so fast,” I say.

He chuckles.

He lets me drive to school even though I’m not supposed to be driving with someone under twenty-one. I still can’t believe the DMV told me I wasn’t allowed to drive just ‘cause I can only see out of one eye.

Eric’s half asleep in the passenger seat, his head against the window. I take his hand in mine. He glances at me and smiles tiredly. I smile back.

“B-Butts,” he murmurs, lifting our hands so he can skim him thumb over my chin.

At school, we meet up with our friends at our table after getting breakfast from the cafeteria. Eric hates breakfast from the cafeteria, but I told him since he didn’t get up right away we couldn’t go to Tweek Bros for breakfast like usual.

The day goes by quickly. After school, Eric drops me off at home. The car window’s open. I fold my arms over the door. He closes the space between us. The kiss lingers. I break, but I don’t pull back. I bite my lip, staring at his mouth. “See you tomorrow,” I murmur.

He tilts my chin up so he can look into my eyes. He kisses me again, softly.

I step back from the car. I wave as he drives off. I watch the Mustang disappear into the sun.

I go into the house, dropping my backpack to the floor. I kick off my shoes, putting them nicely into the coatroom next to the front door. I go into the kitchen. The sink’s empty. I open the dishwasher. There are a few dishes there. I put them away in the cupboards where they belong.

I pull open the fridge, surveying the contents. I wonder what I should make for dinner tonight.

I taught myself to cook in sixth grade when Mom and Dad would show up too late for them to make dinner. I started off easy by making mac-n-cheese. Then it was spaghetti. Then I learned to make things with meat. On rare occasions, Mom would bring me into the kitchen and teach me how to make some of the meals she usually makes me and Dad.

We have pasta, but we also got a lotta potatoes and carrots. I check the fridge, seeing that we have beef. I could make beef stew and have pasta with it.

I’ll decide after I study.

I pick up my backpack by the door and head up to my room. I jump into bed, bringing my binder up with me. I have my AP English and Civics finals tomorrow. It should be easy. My English teacher said the exam’s on the three books we read this semester. I feel like I don’t need to study at all, but it’s better safe than sorry.

Maybe I’ll call Eric up later when he’s off work so we can study for Civics together. Funnily enough, he’s in AP Civics. He doesn’t talk about it much. In fact, I don’t think any of our friends know he’s in the class. He talks about being in AP Spanish more.

We’ve only ever had a few classes together throughout our high school years. We didn’t share any classes in freshman year. Our schedules were extremely different because I took more advanced classes than him. I was in English Honors, he was in normal English. I was in Geometry Honors while he was in Algebra 1. It was like that in sophomore year, but we had fourth period World History together. It was funny too because in seventh grade, we shared fourth period History. In junior year, we shared Health and Culinary Arts, which were semester courses. Those were probably the funnest classes to share. Eric made comments in Health that made the class laugh. Comments like: “I can’t get anyone pregnant because my girlfriend has a dick, so why am I in this class?” I’d lightly punched him, but not for calling me his girlfriend. I punched him ‘cause he insinuated our nightly activities to the whole class and the teacher too. Culinary was a mess, but a fun kind. Once, when the teacher wasn’t looking, Eric smeared icing on my mouth when we were making cupcakes. Then he put his hand around my neck and drew me towards him so he could lick and suck it off my lips. He got in trouble for the PDA, and not for wasting icing. In fact, the entirety of junior year was fun. This year, Eric and I have Construction together. It ain’t too bad, but it’s odd because most of the students are freshmen. Our schedules have always been so different, and I hate it most of the time.

I’m almost finished with English when I hear the front door open. I hear Mom’s and Dad’s voices floating upstairs. I glance at the time on my phone. It’s only four o’clock. They’re home early.

I don’t think much of it. I go back to all the worksheets we did on the books. I have the study guide out in front of me. My English teacher’s great and all, but what I don’t like is how her test questions about the books are so specific. Her questions are insignificant details that anybody else would forget after reading the chapter.

Fifteen minutes later, I hear Dad call up the stairs, “Butters, can you come down here? Your mother and I need to talk to you.”

I freeze. My blood goes cold. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Every bad thing I’ve ever done flashes before me. Every reason they might ground me for comes back. Most of it’s to do with Eric.

Numbly, I get out of bed. I float down the stairs. My steps make no noise at all. Mom and Dad are sitting on the couch. I stand in front of them, mind blank. Their faces are empty of emotion. Maybe this ain’t so bad after all.

Something in me tells me that this is worse though.

Dad gestures to the coffee table at the back of my knees. “Have a seat.”

I sit down. Both my parents’ faces are wrinkled with time. Dad’s hair’s graying. Mom dyes her gray hairs, and she puts anti-aging creams on her face that don’t really work.

My knuckles are rubbing together.

My parents stare at my nervous habit. They’ve never much liked when I do it. Mom always disapproved of it. Dad said it makes me look like the Tweaks’ son. I’ve always wanted to make a remark about that. I hate how they criticize my friends. But I always kept my mouth shut for the fear of getting grounded for back talk.

Dad clears his throat. He looks up at me. Right in the eye. His voice is calm when he speaks. “Your mother and I are going to give you ten minutes to get everything you need from your room.”

I blink. “S-sorry?” I ask. “I—I don’t think I understand.”

Dad’s smile holds no kindness. It’s as empty as his face. “That’s all right, son. You’re going to go up to your room when I say. You will get your suitcase, or a backpack. You will put everything you may need into it.”

I don’t understand. I don’t understand why he’s telling me to pack up everything in ten minutes. It can’t process in my mind.

I glance at Mom for help. Her lips are sealed to a thin line. She stares down at her hands in her lap. I look back to Dad. I stutter, “I-I-I—”

“You have somewhere to go, correct?” Dad interrupts.

“Wh-what?” I croak.

Dad and Mom glance at each other.

I say, “I-I still don’t understand what’s goin’ on. Why do I need to get all my stuff? Are we goin’ somewhere? Am _I_ goin’ somewhere? I don’t get—”

“The ten minutes start now.”

I shoot to my feet, running up to my room. I don’t get what’s happening, but all I know is that I don’t wanna make Dad cross if I sit there like an idiot, wasting the ten mysterious minutes he’s giving me. I go into the hall closet where we keep our suitcases. I take mine, dragging it into my room. My breathing’s ragged as I unzip it and throw it open.

I go to my closet, pulling down random clothes from hangers and throwing them into the suitcase. I do the same with my dressers. I toss in socks and underwear. I grab Eric’s Switch under my clothes. I grab all his clothes and his hoodies, and I put them into the suitcase.

My heart’s going wild when I run into the bathroom. I rifle through the cabinet under the sink, pulling out my travel bag of toiletries. I check it briefly, making sure there’s a toothbrush and toothpaste and things like deodorant. I throw it into my suitcase with my clothes.

On my knees attempting to zip up the overflowing suitcase, I see the time on my clock. 4:19. What time did they call me down? How long did the conversation last? How many more minutes do I have? I reach under my bed for an empty white backpack once the suitcase is zipped up. I throw in my phone, my charger, my wallet, textbooks, library books. I make sure I have everything in my school backpack that needs to be there. I look around my room, my vision blurry.

I stumble to my feet, going over to my dresser, picking up my hamster cage. They look up at me at the sudden movement.

I hiccup, and I realize I’m crying.

I grab their food. I put it into my backpack. I grab a few books from my nightstand. I pull my pillow off my bed. I go back to my dresser again to make sure I’ve robbed it of the important things. I push around my clothes. I find my old security blanket. The one I brought to preschool with me every day. I run my thumb over the fuzzy fabric. It’s still soft. It’s so much smaller than I remember.

“Time’s up.”

Teary-eyed, my head turns to my door. Mom and Dad stand there, looking at my stuff on the floor. I stuff my old blanket into my pillowcase. I pick up my suitcase, putting my pillow through the handles. I put one backpack over each of my shoulders.

Dad takes my suitcase from me. He does it slow.

I hold my hamster cage with white knuckles.

Mom holds out her hand to me. She smiles, but it doesn’t last. Her eyes are red and watery. “Come on, baby,” she says. Her voice is quiet.

I take her hand. In a daze, I let her lead me out of my room. I let her lead me down the stairs. My words are meek when I ask, “Mommy, where am I going?”

She doesn’t reply. She opens the front door. Dad holds it open for us. Mom takes me onto the sidewalk. She stops there. I glance at Dad behind her. Mom cups my cheeks, using her thumbs wipe away my tears. She kisses my forehead. “I love you, sweetie.”

She steps back. I weakly grasp for her, completely sobbing now. “Mommy, wait,” I cry. “Stop. Please stop. What’s goin’ on? Please, Mommy.”

Dad stands my suitcase up next to me. He kisses my hair.

“Dad—?” I start.

Dad puts a hand on Mom’s back. He leads her into the house. For the first time, Dad’s eyes are sympathetic towards me when he looks back. The front door shuts softly.

For a while, I stand on the sidewalk, crying and saying, “Mommy” over and over in a dying mumble. I stare at my home. I stare at the empty windows, the trimmed bushes, the shut door. My backpacks slide off my shoulders as I sink to the ground. I set down my hamster cage on the sidewalk carefully. I shove my suitcase over, flinching when it hits the sidewalk with a loud _smack!_ I sit on top of it, crying into my hands.

I still don’t understand what’s going on. I don’t understand what’s just happened.

I don’t know for how long I stay like that. But after my throat begins to burn from the tears, I go through my dirty white backpack, pulling out my phone. My hands shake. I go to my call log. I find the number. I hold my phone up to my ear. I listen to it ring.

When it stops, I take a painful breath in. “Eric?” I say.

“B-Butts? Are you crying? What’s wrong?” he asks.

Talking’s hard when all my words come out as sobs. “Can you come pick me up?”

I hear him scramble around frantically. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Where are you?”

“My house.”

I hear him pause. “Your house?”

“I—I don’t understand what’s goin’ on, Eric. Just _please_ come pick me up.” My hand falls from my ear. My fingers go limp. My phone slides from my grasp. I can hear Eric’s faint words from the other end, but I can’t make them out. I fold my arms around my head on my knees. I cry so hard my body wracks with tremors.

Hours later, it feels, I hear a car pull up to the sidewalk. I hear the door being thrown open. I hear someone come running around. Then I feel hands on my shoulders. Hands that tilt my face up to theirs. I open my eyes into Eric’s. His face is etched in worry.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” he asks.

I don’t have the heart to explain. I stare at his face. He doesn’t wear the look of concern often. It dims the fire in his violet and brown eyes. I drop my head to his chest. His arms slide around my shoulders. He hugs me hard. He hoists me into his arms. He opens up the passenger door. He places me in the seat carefully, putting the seat belt around me. He puts the hamster cage in my lap. He closes my door. I watch him pick up my stuff dumped onto the sidewalk and put them into the backseat.

He drives us to his house in silence. His fists are white-knuckled around the steering wheel. His jaw’s set. I know what he’s thinking.

Parking in his driveway, I take my school backpack from the backseat. He takes my other one and my suitcase. He unlocks the front door, making a beeline for his room. Mr. Kitty follows us up.

He takes my stuff from me and puts it on his desk. He sits on his bed and pulls me into his lap. I drop my head to his shoulder.

“I need you to explain to me what happened,” he says.

I make a noise of protest, my eyes pricking with the threat of tears again. He rubs my sides like he’s tryna get me warm.

“I can help you if you tell me,” he presses gently.

Mr. Kitty jumps up onto the bed. I scratch her head, feeling her purr beneath my palm.

“Butters,” Eric says sternly.

I sniffle. Mr. Kitty crawls into my lap. I stroke her soft gray fur. Her tail shoots high. The words come to me with startling ferocity. “They kicked me out.”

The words break me down all over again.

He lays back. He lets me cry. His arms are steadfast. His arms are the only constant thing in my life, I realize.

When Mr. Kitty starts mewling, I shift around from fetal position. I lay on top of Eric. My face is dry. We stay like that for a little while longer. When I hear his family come home from work (or from Bebe’s house, in Clyde’s case) I roll off him and sit up. Sniffling, I take off one of my socks, throwing it onto the floor. One of the things I like about Eric’s room is that it doesn’t have to be perfectly neat like mine did. I can leave a sock or two on the floor and he doesn’t mind. Neither do his parents.

Eric huffs a laugh. I turn to him. His eyes are on my feet. “It’s funny how you go around in only one sock.”

I smile at him when he looks up at me. I put my feet back on the bed, lifting them into the air. I wiggle my toes in his face. My left foot’s still got my Odd Future sock on it. Eric got them for me for Christmas. He beams, catching my feet in his hands. He leans down to me from between my legs. He kisses me in the slightest way. He sighs against my mouth. Then he murmurs, “I’ll talk to my parents, okay? I’m sure they’ll let you stay.”

I put a hand over his heart. “What if they don’t?” I mumble.

He massages his hand through my hair at the nape of my neck. “Why wouldn’t they, B-Butts?”

I stare at his shirt. It’s red. I lift my palm from his heart. The word _Evil_ is printed in cursive gray. I rub my thumb over it. I sniffle loudly. A sob bursts from my mouth. “If they don’t let me stay, I got nowhere to go,” I cry.

Eric rubs me comfortingly. His lips brush my forehead when he talks. “B-Butts, baby. You always have somewhere to go. You have me, don’t you? I’ll always be right here for you. Don’t you forget that.”

I whimper, and he squeezes me.

He takes me downstairs. Clyde’s sat on the couch, watching YouTube on the TV. He greets me with furrowed eyebrows. “Hey, Butters,” he says. “You okay?”

I shrug in response.

Eric’s hand slides from my shoulder to the small of my back.

His parents are in the kitchen cooking. They stop talking and turn around when they hear us come in. Their eyes are immediately on me. Their faces are sympathetic.

“Oh, honey,” Liane says to me. She leaves her station at the stove to come hold my face in her hands. She looks to Eric for an explanation.

He says, “At the table.”

We all go out back into the living room and sit at the dining table. Roger and Liane sit across from me and Eric. Clyde lowers the volume of the TV.

“What happened?” Roger asks.

Eric’s hand returns to the back of my neck. He massages me again. “His parents kicked him out.”

Roger and Liane are taken aback.

“Why?” Liane wonders.

I shrug. “They didn’t say.”

Her face pinches in anger. “I ought to call them up and give them a piece of my mind—”

Roger puts his hand on her shoulder. “No, honey. It’s best to not mention it.”

Liane gapes at her husband. “Why not? They kicked out their only son without explanation, and you’re telling me that you’re just going to let that _fly by?_ Roger, that’s outrageous—”

“It’s not that I think it’s not outrageous; I think it is. I really do. But these are the Stotches. Honey, those two have little to no sense in their minds. They won’t listen to anything they don’t want to hear,” Roger says. He looks to me. “No offense.”

I laugh a watery laugh. I lift my legs onto Eric’s lap. He massages my feet. “It’s fine,” I say. “It’s true, after all.”

Eric kisses my cheek. “Can he stay here?” he asks his parents.

They trade a look, contemplating.

“Please,” Eric says. “We’re gonna move into the apartment in Boulder soon anyway. He’ll only be staying here for a few weeks at most. And he’ll be sleeping in my room. It’s not like he needs a room of his own.”

Roger says, “Of course he can stay here.” He smiles at me. “You’re always welcome here.”

Liane shares his smile, directing it at me and Eric. “But we’re going to have to establish some rules.”

Eric’s jaw drops. His hands freeze on my socked foot. “Rules? When have you ever needed to give me _rules?”_

“Oh, all the time. I just never went through with it because I figured it would have little to no effect on you anyway. But your dad and I have been talking about setting some rules for a while now,” she says. She laughs a little. “You two don’t exactly try to hide what you get up to when you’re alone for more than an hour.”

From the couch, Clyde bursts into laughter.

Eric shoots over his shoulder, “Shut up, Clyde. You’re still a virgin.”

Clyde mocks, “Premarital sex is a sin.”

Eric scowls a playful kinda scowl.

Roger clears his throat loudly, capturing both Clyde’s and Eric’s attention. His face is grave. “Eric, this is a serious subject.”

Eric crosses his arms and sits back in his chair. “All I wanted to do was ask if Butters could live with us for the time being, and now I’m being lectured.”

I giggle. He glances at me. He chucks my chin.

Liane lowers her voice. “Eric, are you having safe sex? Are you using condoms?”

Eric looks back at his parents, his face scarlet and plastered in shock. He stutters and stammers. Eric never does that.

Clyde suppresses snickers from the couch.

Eric says, “W-well, I mean—” He tosses me a desperate glance.

His parents turn their attention to me. Now I blush. I sink lower into my seat, praying to disappear.

Eric’s mom’s voice takes on a scolding tone when she says, _“Eric…”_

Eric throws up his hands. “So what? We got tested. We’re fine. We’re negative. And I can’t get him pregnant, so.”

His parents pin him with matching no-nonsense expressions.

Eric glares back before continuing, “And you really think I’m gonna get some STD? I’ve been fucking the same ass since I was sixteen—”

I slap his shoulder to attempt to get him to shut up before he continues to overshare. I wouldn’t want him to blurt out the fact that we took half of each other’s virginity at fifteen. He was fourteen, though, actually.

Eric’s mouth snaps shut. He winces, realizing what he’s revealed. To his parents no less.

They sit in shocked silence, staring at us. Then they burst into laughter. Clyde joins them. Eric and I simmer in shame and embarrassment as they get it out of their system. As they begin to calm down, Eric rubs my bare foot, looking at me apologetically. I kiss his neck to show him that it’s okay.

Liane wipes a tear from her eye. “You’re keeping your door open until eight at night. After that, you can close it and get up to all you want. Just make sure nobody can hear you, and that your door is locked. And if you _really_ feel that you need something to happen _right_ there at that _very_ moment when everyone is still up, put on some music so everyone else can take a hint.”

Roger points to Clyde. “Same goes for you.”

Clyde turns up his palms. “I’m not even sexually active yet!”

Eric snorts. “Told you. Virgin.”

Clyde sticks up his middle finger at Eric. Eric sticks his tongue out at him. He picked up that habit from me.

“Are you wearing one sock, Butters?” Liane asks.

“Yessum,” I respond.

Eric says, “It’s his thing.”

I point to his feet planted on the floor. “You wear mismatched socks all the time.”

“I don’t know where the matching ones disappear to!”

I laugh with everyone else. I wrap my arms around his neck, putting my head on his shoulder. “We left my hamsters alone with Mr. Kitty in your room,” I say.

“Oh, shit,” Eric says.

We get up so fast my vision clouds with static. We storm up the stairs, his blue and green socks ahead of my bare foot and one socked foot.


	6. Butters Stotch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this lackluster chapter.

**Senior year.**

Finals are over for us seniors. It’s our senior picnic in the first week of June. We’re going to a lake to hang out for the day. There are different activities to do and the like, but we’re really here for the solar eclipse later tonight. Everyone’s excited about it. It’s supposed to get dark once the sun’s covered.

I’m pressed up against Eric on the bus. The lake’s an hour drive away. Kenny’s in the seat across from us, sitting at the end. I’ve been worried about him since he told me Henrietta broke up with him at prom. He hasn’t been his usual self since then. Sometimes I catch him tracing his tattoo in the crook of his elbow. The tattoo says _Eternal_ in Henrietta’s handwriting. When he first showed it to us, he said it had nothing to do with their relationship, and that he just wanted it in her handwriting. But I think it goes a bit deeper than that. I’ve never seen Kenny look at anyone the way he looks at Henrietta. She’s also on this trip, just on another bus.

Kenny’s got a black T-shirt on, exposing his freckled arms. I watch him trace his tattoo with his finger. The sigh he loosens makes his shoulders droop forward. It makes his hair cover his violet eyes.

Something in my chest writhes at the sight. I hate seeing him like this. It ain’t right. But I can’t place what’s wrong about it. All I know is that I’m used to the Kenny with the sharp, flirty grin and the mischievous glint in his eye. This Kenny ain’t it.

“He looks like shit, huh?” Eric murmurs in my ear. He’s also staring at Kenny.

I nod. “He really loved her,” I whisper back.

Not only do Kenny’s actions prove this, but once in junior year, I asked him if he loved her. He admitted to me that he did indeed love her a whole lot. I had to ask because that was the day after Bebe’s party, where Kenny drunkenly kissed me and forgot the next morning. I still don’t know what to make of it. When I think back to that moment, though, I always feel like I’m forgetting something. I can never put my finger on what. Just looking at Kenny makes me feel like something’s off.

Eric sighs, his arm unraveling from my waist to hold my hand. “Do you think if I were to have chosen Pennsylvania… do you think we would’ve ended up like that eventually?” he asks quietly.

The question makes my head thrum the way it does when I think back to that kiss with Kenny. I feel like Eric’s question should bring something to mind, but it doesn’t. It’s like grasping at empty air, and it’s futile and frustrating.

I give Kenny a last glance before focusing on Eric and the way his brows press together in the slightest way. “Maybe,” I say honestly. I brush back a piece of his hair falling into his mismatched eyes. “It’s definitely possible.”

He slumps in his seat, putting his head on my shoulder. “Then I’m glad I didn’t choose that.”

I laugh, running my fingers over his jawline. “All things work out in the end. Maybe they will for Kenny.”

The corner of his mouth lifts up at me, and I press a kiss right there.

At the lake, the buses unload. Streams of seniors flow through the doors ahead of us. Kenny’s in front of me. I tap his shoulder. He jumps down from the bus, squinting up at me. “Yeah?” he says.

Something about the way the warm sunlight reflects off his eyes makes my heart sputter.

I step onto the ground. “Doncha think this’ll be fun?” I ask him. I’m desperate to see some of that usual joy back in his face.

It doesn’t return.

He shrugs. “It might.”

“Unless you drown,” Eric adds, putting his arm around my shoulders as we start to follow the group to the lake.

“Eric!” I scold.

Kenny laughs, but there isn’t much mirth to it. “True. That would make things pretty upsetting,” he says to Eric. His words are dry.

Eric leads me up to Stan and the rest of them coming from the buses that were in front of ours. He hails Clyde who has his hand in Bebe’s. They stop and back up to us. I quick a glance at Kenny over my shoulder. His hands are in the pockets of his swim shorts. He looks off through the crowd of seniors. I scan the faces. And then I see he’s staring after Henrietta.

I find myself absentmindedly twirling my shark tooth necklace around my finger.

The crowd closes up on my sight of Kenny. Eric drags me over to the lake. There’s volleyball nets set up, vending and soda machines in the pavilion, giant chess pieces, big Jenga blocks, and even a playground in the distance. Near the playground’s a circular theater. We have to go watch a presentation there before the eclipse. We’ll get our glasses there.

As we get closer to the lake, our classmates part, some going to the pavilion, to the playground, or to the games. Our group sticks together, shedding pieces of clothing as we near the water’s edge. The trees edging the clearing provide us shade.

Stan crouches at the roots of a tree. He looks up at everyone, eyes wide and beaming. “There are water guns and water balloons here!” he exclaims. He lifts a green water gun.

“Toss me one,” Kyle says.

Stan throws him a red one.

In perfect sync, Stan and Kyle start firing at their girlfriends. 

Eric leads me into the water, his hand in mine. The water’s colder than I thought it’d be, so I walk on my tiptoes. I breathe out sharply when the water touches my skin, getting higher as we go deeper. Eric stops when the water’s at our waists, laughing at my chattering teeth.

“It’s cold!” I say.

His lips cover his straight teeth, and I realize too late when he pushes water at me. I can’t do anything but gape at him as water rolls down my nose. I watch him laugh. He squeezes his eyes shut, leaning back as he clutches his middle. The idea sparks in my head, a smirk of my own creeping onto my face. My hands are on his chest, and I’m pushing against him with all my strength.

There’s a big splash that gets me even more wet. But now I’m the one laughing as Eric surfaces, completely drenched. He slicks back his wet hair, already starting to go all wavy, and my mind blanks out at the sight. Especially when a lock springs back to hang over his forehead.

He’s able to move too fast, even in the water. He lunges for me, taking me by my waist. I gasp as I feel the water rising. I start screaming over Eric’s laughter. “Stop it!” I laugh, struggling against him.

He’s too strong for his own good. Because then we’re both underwater, cold enveloping me. My skin numbs to it, relaxing against Eric when he loosens his grasp to a respectable hold. I feel his lips on mine. I open my mouth for more, but all I receive is rushing water. I jump up to the surface, coughing. Eric comes up less recklessly.

“Well, you ruined it,” he jokes.

I pretend-glare at him, giving his shoulder a light shove. “You started it,” I accuse. I blink the water out of my eyes.

He shrugs. “Well that’s tough,” he drawls.

I roll my eyes, turning my back on him. I wade into deeper water. Eric follows me. I glance at him over my shoulder. He smirks at me. I cross my arms, turning my head forward.

His voice is in my ear when he says, “You know you’re not really mad at me.”

I look at him from the corner of my eye. He smirks, patting my ass. Instead of replying, I dunk my head underwater and start swimming out. I stop when the water’s up to my shoulders. Eric stands right in front of me. We glare at each other. I wrap my arms around his shoulders. He kisses me.

“Told you,” he murmurs.

I nuzzle my nose against his. “Shut up, won’t you?”

Eric’s tongue licks at the back of my teeth, and it tickles. I flinch back at the feeling. He grins, leaning in to repeat it. His breath’s warm against my lips. It’s almost unfair how he knows me so well. He pulls back and raises a knowing eyebrow when I have to shift against him.

I flush. “Wh-what?”

He just keeps on grinning. He kisses me again. “Are you done being a bitch so we go back to the fun now?” he asks. He gestures to our friends running around at the water’s edge. They all have water guns or water balloons. Clyde throws a balloon at Token. It explodes at his back.

“Okay.”

We get caught up pretty quickly in the water war that’s going on. I’m shot at with water guns, and balloons fly around me. As soon as I get my hands on a gun, Eric hurls a water balloon at me. I have enough instinct to swat it aside with the gun before it hits me. He laughs at me.

“Hey!” I exclaim. I aim my gun at him. I start running at him, and he spins on his heel and races off.

He runs into the trees, and it’s so dense that I lose track of him after he’s led me deeper into the trees. I slow to a walk, looking around every trunk. “Eric?” I ask.

Twigs and fallen leaves crunch under my feet. They poke at my skin, and I’m regretting not shuffling into my flip flops beforehand. Birds chip overhead. A light breeze startles me. It blows through the leaves in the trees, and it sounds like someone moving. I look over my shoulder. I can’t see the lake anymore. It’s all trees.

“Eric, this ain’t fun anymore. Let’s go back now,” I say.

I stop in my tracks. What if Eric ran too far ahead and got lost? Every tree looks the same. I spin in a slow circle. A squirrel freezes on a tree trunk. I lift my water gun at it, and it scurries up the tree. Everything’s still.

A loud “YEEHAW!” and a blur of movement jumps in front of me. I scream. I drop my water gun to cover my ears and close my eyes. I stumble back, still screaming. I trip over a tree root, bump my head on a tree trunk, and I fall on my butt.

When I hear muffled laughing, I uncover my ears and open my eyes. Eric’s standing above me, holding his middle as he laughs. “You know, you’re a little pussy bitch,” he says.

I prop myself up on my elbows. I put a hand on the back of my head. It’s aching where I hit it, and my brain’s throbbing. “You scared me,” I defend.

He crouches next to me, dropping his water balloons. They burst upon contact. “You didn’t let me finish. You’re a pussy bitch in the streets but a cowboy in the sheets.”

I glare up at him. “You saw that on Instagram, and that’s got nothin’ to do with anythin’.”

He grins, rubbing my head. “Yeah. And what’re you gonna do about it?”

I blow him a raspberry. He laughs. “You’re a big meanie,” I say.

He shrugs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“My head really hurts,” I tell him. I pout.

His face falls to sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry, B-Butts. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He bends his neck to kiss the bridge of my nose. “Let’s get you ice or something.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “Carry me though. Since you hurt me.”

He scoops me up. I have him pick up the water gun so we can return it. We go back the opposite direction, right back to the edge of the lake. Eric drops the gun on the ground. He sets me down on a table in the pavilion. I watch him get a handful of napkins and stuff them into a plastic cup. He takes that cup to the soda machine and fills it with ice. He comes back, holding out his arms to me. I slide myself into them, my ear over his heart. He brings my legs over his. He gathers the edges of the napkin, twisting them up. He pulls it out of the cup.

“It’s kinda like a makeshift ice pack,” he says. He holds it to the spot on my head where it hurts.

I hide my face in the crook of his neck. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“The excessive times I’ve been punched in the face. One time, the nurse in elementary ran out of ice packs and had to make one out of napkins. It didn’t last long though. The napkin broke when I was in class because it was too soggy. Got all over my pants. Looked like I pissed myself. So my cheek was bruised and my pants were wet. Best. Day. Ever.”

I nod. “That was when you said something to Jimmy. Who knew he could hit so hard?”

“Tell me about it,” Eric mutters. He puts his lips to the crown of my head and murmurs, “You okay?”

I nod. I say, “I love you,” real quietly so that only he can hear it.

He replies, “I love you too.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry about scaring you. And making you hit your pretty little head.”

I smile, biting my lip. I snuggle into him. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

A lady who looks in her early thirties walks up to us. Her brown hair’s curled, and she’s got a flower tucked behind her ear. She smiles at us. “Is he your boyfriend?” she asks Eric.

He frowns a bit. “No. He’s my always,” he says. He caresses my ear with his thumb.

His words are sincere, and it makes my face go all hot. I love it when he calls me his boyfriend, but that’s the first time he’s referred to me as his always. I like it a lot.

Beaming, the lady says, “Look at you kids. Just from walking around, I see a bunch of kids in love, and it makes me feel in love too. It really is quite fascinating.”

Eric’s eyes narrow. “Yeah…” he says.

I know that look all too well. To prevent Eric from saying something that’ll get him in trouble, I grab his face and kiss him roughly. He cups my jaw, kissing my mouth open. His tongue invades my mouth. Heat crawls over me, from my cheeks down to my toes. I forget about the lady standing there for a moment.

When Eric pulls back, the lady’s gone. She’s walking towards the theater. She passes by a table that Kenny’s sitting alone on. He’s staring out at our friends. They’re still in a water war.

Eric nudges my face back to his. My stomach flutters at the deep look in his eyes.


	7. Kenny McCormick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henrietta and Kenny are just hardcore Jade and Beck from Victorious.

**Senior year.**

From the pavilion, I watch my friends chase after each other, throwing water balloons or shooting each other with water guns. They’re all laughing and having a good time. I would join them if I could. I don’t feel that bright energy they have. I feel drained.

A little more than two weeks ago, Henrietta broke up with me. I didn’t go right back to her after the week was up like I thought I would. I hate to say that while I was upset she broke up with me and happy she’s still letting me see her, I was pissed. Pissed she broke up with me when we were nowhere near bad, pissed that she broke up with me at prom.

I think she knew I’d be.

While I was drunk with anger, I was too mad to go see her after a week. It felt like too soon. I wanted the anger to fester. I wanted to pretend I hated her for a bit longer. But now it’s all faded. Now I just feel empty without her. I don’t have any classes with her, and I never see her at lunch since she, Pete, and Firkle are always hanging out behind the gym. And now we only have three days of high school left. I have her number, but I’m too bitter to text or call.

What makes it sting is how Karen will sometimes slip up and start talking about Henrietta when she recounts her lunchtime spent with the goths. She always apologizes after, despite me telling her she has no need to. I think she can see my hurt, but I specifically told her that just because Henri and I are broken up, it doesn’t mean she should feel like she shouldn’t hang out with them anymore.

Truth be told, I’m fine with it. Because even if Henrietta did break up with me, she’s still doing me and my sister more than we could ever ask for. Even if we’re broken up, she’s still going to help us pay for college tuition with the money she saved up from being a sugar baby a few years ago. Her helping us out like that without being asked is something I’m eternally grateful for.

The thought makes me touch my tattoo absently.

I look around the pavilion after I start to feel sick at the sight of my friends. I find Henrietta sitting with Pete at the wooden picnic tables closer to the snack bar. They’re talking.

I leave the table I was sitting at. I feel myself beginning to sweat as I walk over to them. It’s not from the sun. I approach them, and their conversation dies as they watch me. I’ve walked up to them in the past, but this feels different. I’ve never been nervous under their eyes.

I find myself standing in front of Henrietta. Her hair is up in a bun, wispy strands framing her makeup-free face. She’s in a black bikini top, and her feet are bare. The sight makes my chest thrum with longing. It hurts even more when I see that she’s assessing me too. 

Her dark brown eyes leave me to glance at Pete. He gets the idea and leaves, but not before throwing a look at me over his shoulder. The look isn’t particularly threatening, but more curious. Nonetheless, it still makes me shift from foot to foot.

Henrietta sweeps a hand to the empty spot next to her. I sit there. She’s only seven inches away. I haven’t been this close to her in two weeks. It’s familiar and new at the same time.

“Hi, Kenny,” she says, sipping from her soda can.

“Hi.” My voice sounds like someone just ran it raw with a chainsaw.

“How’ve you been?” she asks.

“Bad,” I find myself answering. She looks at me like she wasn’t expecting honesty. But honesty continues to pour out my mouth like the broken faucet in the bathroom at home. “I miss you. I miss waking up next to you. I miss smoking on your roof with you. Every day, I wish we weren’t broken up. I wish you’d just take me back. I wish it didn’t have to be like this.” I realize how bitchy and whiny I sound.

She’s silent before she sighs. “You know why it has to be like this,” she murmurs.

I nod. “Yeah. I do. But I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

Her fingers run through my hair, and it’s so good and so bad at the same time. As much as I miss her touching me like this, it also reminds me that we’re not where we used to be. I take her hand from my head. I kiss her knuckles. Her hand goes around my chin, lifting my head up to look at her. Her face is sympathetic.

“I miss you too,” she whispers. “And _I_ wish it didn’t have to be like this either. But I also don’t wanna hold you back from going where you wanna go.”

She closes the space between us, her lips on mine. For a moment, it’s sweet, and it fills me with warmth. But then it starts to ebb away, hollowing out to a pain still fresh. I pull away, wincing. Two weeks ago at prom, I thought going back to her would be easy. I thought that kissing her like nothing’s wrong would be simple.

It’s not.

My fingers shake when I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My palm falls on her cheek. Her hand covers mine.

And then the pain is unbearable, but I’m kissing her passionately, like I can convince her to take me back with the movement of my lips. She moves her body closer to mine, our chests flush against each other. With the hand not on her cheek, I caress her side. Her sigh fanning over my face is sweeter than fiction as she tilts her head, her nose brushing mine.

Our kisses become short, heavy and loud. Her arms are looped around my neck. My hands are on her hips.

Back at prom, she told me I could come to her when I felt like I needed to. It was vague, and I was unsure if she meant come to her to talk or hug or cuddle or kiss or have sex or all of the above. But now, I realize that she meant I could come to her for anything.

Just like it used to be.

The taste of her is so familiar. It makes me ache. She notices. She brings herself onto my lap. I grunt at the memories that come back to me, and the way my boardshorts get tight. Her hand slides down my chest, sending shivers down my spine. The hairs on my arms stand when her hand is on my thigh. She pulls back from the kiss. Suddenly, there’s a sheet of sweat on my back, and it’s not because of the sun.

“Um—” I start.

She cuts me off with a swift kiss, moving her hand higher. I grunt, my face heating up like the rest of me.

“There’s—people,” I grind out, aware of the fact that we’re still sitting on a picnic table and people are around us.

Her hand still moves steadily. “And what are we gonna do about it?” she whispers.

My response is a pathetic squeak. She gets up. She walks towards the storage shed. I stumble after her, careful to hide the commotion happening in my shorts. The door is unlocked. She goes in, and I slip in after her. There’s one window facing the pavilion that lets in light. The conversations from outside are muffled.

Henri locks the door behind us. Standing against the wall, her eyes stay steady on my face. “You love me again,” she murmurs.

Breathless, I laugh. “Who said I stopped?” I croak.

She takes my face in her hands. Her touch is delicate. She kisses me, and I kiss her back to the best of my ability, which isn’t that great. It’s difficult to when she’s stolen my breath and everything else. I bring her leg up to my hip. It’s humid in here, and her skin is hot against mine.

She lets out a breath, tilting her head back. I kiss her neck. My hands travel up her back, and I pull at the strings of her bikini. I hold it in front of her face, smirking. She takes it from me, throwing at the opposite wall of the shed. I smooth my thumb over her midriff. Her hands work on untying my shorts.

As I watch her do it, I clear my throat in an attempt to clear my head. “Um… I don’t have any condoms,” I mumble.

She kisses me hard, pushing my shorts to the floor. “And I’m not on birth control, so don’t cum in me. Unless you want a kid.”

I chuckle. “Maybe I will cum in you. If we have a kid together, maybe that’ll make you stay,” I tease.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes.

I slide my fingers into her bikini bottom. The look vanishes from her face when I push my fingers into her. She’s soaked. I tease her about it while I move my fingers in and out of her.

She bites out, “Sh-shut up.”

I press into her further. She moans. The sound shallows my breathing. “Do you ever take care of yourself when you get like this?” I ask.

“No. Unlike you, I don’t masturbate to pass the time.”

I bite her neck. “I still have your pictures,” I tell her.

When we were freshmen in high school, she gave me a folder of raunchy pictures of her for Christmas. She wasn’t completely naked in them, but she was either close to it or really was and didn’t show me the goods. There was a picture of her thighs before she got her tattoo. One was of her stomach, the light glinting off her belly button piercing. Another one was a close-up of her biting her lip. Then one of her chest and shoulders, but never her actual titties. I once tried to piece them together like they were a puzzle, but they didn’t create an entire picture, to my disappointment. My favorite picture was where she was sitting on the floor of her room at the foot of her bed, her legs spread around whatever she was using to take the pictures with. She was in a black lace thong and a matching bra. One strap had slipped off her shoulder. She had her tongue out, her nose scrunched, her head tilted, her hair falling over her shoulder. Her hands were pushing up her tits so that she created that curve. That picture was nowhere near as suggestive as the others, but I liked it so much because it was casual. It showed a piece of her personality, not just her skin. I locked myself up in my room all holiday break so I could be unbothered as I jerked off to those pictures. It took me until after we came back from break to realize that she gave me those pictures to tease me—to make me want her more than I already did even though I couldn’t have her. Those images were just the taste testers that were taken from me after the first bite. In sophomore year, I was given the privilege to eat the whole meal.

She doesn’t respond to my comment. She puts her hands on my shoulders, drawing me in closer. She rubs her thigh against my cock as I untie her bottom with my free hand. I almost laugh at her desperation. She opens her eyes to glare at me. “Stop playing with me,” she demands.

I click my tongue at her, leaning in. “You don’t talk to daddy like that unless you want to be punished,” I say. Her bikini bottom drops to the floor under her.

When she blushes, I know I’ve got her. She only blushes when I’ve struck a chord.

“I’ve still got my fingers inside you, don’t I?” I ask her. I push back into her, further than last time. She gasps, nails digging into my skin. I wiggle my fingers inside her, and I can feel her tighten around me.

I take my fingers out, immediately pushing in my stiff cock. The suddenness makes her squirm. I shift her legs around my waist. She complies by locking her feet at the ankles around my back. I put my hands on the wall at either side of her head.

I kiss her chastely. “You’re breathtaking in this helpless state, you know?” I murmur.

She clips, “Fuck off.”

I slam into her hard. I only do it once, but I do it hard enough that I hear her back hit the wall. She yelps. I kiss her chest. “What did I say about the disrespect, princess? You better watch that tongue of yours.”

“Make me,” she growls.

I grin. “If you insist.”

I go slow at first. She hates it when I start off like that. She bucks her hips at me as I kiss her jaw. Both of her arms wrap around my neck. She kisses me sloppily. “Go faster, coward,” she says against my teeth.

“Daddy,” I correct. “You’re only allowed to call me daddy.”

“Go faster, _daddy,”_ she snaps.

I lift her off the wall, laying her on the floor as I press into her deep.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head. Against my lips, she breathes, “You’ll fuck the brat out of me, daddy, won’t you?”

I seethe, “Trust me, I will. You’re gonna take this cock like a big girl.”

And she does.

I’ve got her on the ground, her hair coming undone from her bun, and she’s screaming. The sound makes me go faster and harder. I watch her whole body tremble with each one of my movements. She grips my arms.

“You don’t cum until I say,” I command.

She whimpers, but she nods.

“Yes, daddy,” I prompt.

“Y-yes, daddy.”

I have no sense of time. It feels like hours as I lay her into the shed. It couldn’t be more than twenty minutes though, because when I feel that stirring in the pit of my stomach, I take a glance out the window. The people who had been sitting at the tables in the pavilion are still there.

I bend my neck and kiss her lips. She’s inaudible except for her precious pleasing noises. She came a few minutes ago when I told her she could. She’s been laying under me like a good girl since.

I tell her, “I’m cumming in you.”

I watch as she blinks out of her dazed state. She takes a sharp intake of breath. “Don’t you dare.”

“Congrats, princess. You’re gonna be my baby mama. Looks like you’re stuck with me forever.” I kiss her again.

Panic glazes over the lust in her eyes. “Kenny, I’m serious.” Her voice shakes. “I’ll fucking kill you if you cum in me.”

I fake an orgasm, growling out her name into her neck. I pretend to ride it out. I say, “Oh—too late.”

“Kenny!”

I laugh. My head is muddled as I edge closer to my real climax. “I’m kidding, princess. You feel good. I wish I could cum in you. I wanna cum someplace warm. But I won’t. Because I don’t wanna make you hate me.”

I move into her a few more times. My stomach burns. The world feels like it’s being dragged through syrup. I pull out quick, cumming on her titties. I growl through it like how I pretended to. Once it’s over, I kiss her, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Say thank you,” I coo.

“Thank you, daddy,” she says breathlessly.

I sit back on my heels, observing the mess I’ve made. Henrietta lays immobile on the floor. She’s panting. Her hair clings to her sweaty neck. Her face and her thighs are red. She starts laughing, almost to a hysterical degree.

“Pull out game strong,” she cackles.

I laugh too. “Mm, I don’t know. I’m still hoping you’re gonna find out you’re pregnant in a month.”

She sighs, smiles, and rolls her eyes. _“Stop,”_ she says.

I crawl over to her. I kiss her hard, slipping her the tongue.

I pull back when she puts a hand in the back of my neck. “Can you get me some napkins please, daddy?” she asks.

I kiss her softly. “Anything for my compliant princess,” I say.

I get to my feet and grab my shorts from the floor. I pick up her bikini, placing them next to her.

“You’re putting this back on me when you come back,” she says, meaning her bikini.

I chuckle. “I don’t know. My hands might wander if I do,” I warn.

“Good,” she says.

I leave the shed, making sure it’s firmly shut behind me. I avoid eye contact with anyone in the pavilion as I go to condiments table. I feel stares on my back as I grab a handful of napkins from the dispenser. I bite down a smirk. It’s never been one of my concerns if people hear me fucking someone. I know for most people it is, but I couldn’t care less. So let them look me up and down—with my messy hair and scratches down my back and my bare feet because I left my flip flops in the shed. I don’t give a fuck.

I go back to Henrietta. I kneel down next to her, cleaning her up. I crumple the napkins, tossing them into a corner of the shed. I help her sit up, putting her in my lap. I tie her top around her. I graze my fingers over her sideboob tattoo as I do.

“All roses have thorns,” I murmur in her ear, quoting her tattoo.

She laughs tiredly.

I get her into her bikini bottom next. My hand brushes her inner thigh. My hand moves out to her right hip where her Medusa tattoo is. She sits back against my chest as I pull her hair tie from her destroyed bun. I ruffle my fingers through her hair. She sighs happily. She even has a faint smile on her mouth. I kiss her shoulder, then her cheek.

We leave the shed together, ignoring how people stare after us. Henrietta slips her hand into mine. “You should eat something,” she says.

“Back to the coddling, huh?” I joke.

She shoots me a narrow-eyed look.

We go to the snack bar. They’re still serving hot dogs. The guy behind the bar eyes us. I guess he heard us too. He doesn’t say anything though. I thank him when he hands me my plate. At the condiments table, Henrietta puts nothing but ketchup on her hot dog while I put everything on mine. We sit at a table. I watch her take a bite and the way her tongue flicks out to lick off the ketchup at the corner of her mouth.

“I should’ve asked you to suck my dick,” I muse.

She glares at me. “I should’ve asked you to eat me out.”

I grin. “There’s still time.”

She rolls her eyes.

I reach across the table to flick her septum ring.

Eyeing my hand, she deadpans, “You didn’t even wash your hands.”

I laugh, staring at my right hand. “I didn’t, huh?”

She scrunches up her nose when I stick my fingers into my mouth. I can still taste her on me.

“That’s disgusting,” she says.

I wipe my hand on my shorts. “Nothing about you is disgusting, princess.”

She scoffs. It’s followed by a smile. I kiss her, leaning over our plates. She presses her tongue against mine. Her sigh fans out over my face.

“We should dance,” she suggests.

“Dance?” I ask.

“Mhm.”

I pull back far enough so I can look into her eyes. I listen carefully, and I realize music is playing from the speakers attached to the lights. We finish eating our hot dogs, tossing our plates into the trash. She gets up from her side of the table and walks around to mine. She takes my hands, pulling me up. I stand in front of her, our bodies inches apart. When she smiles, my world lights up.

She drags me over to the bonfire my friends are sitting around. They look up from their conversations at us. Henri puts my hands on her waist. She wraps her arms around my neck. I put my forehead on hers. I slump into her embrace, hiding my face in the crook of her neck. I pull her body flush against mine. We sway to the music.


	8. Eric Cartman

**Senior year.**

Butters and I look up long enough from our phones to watch Kenny and Henrietta sway to the music. They’re orange in the firelight. They’re holding each other close. Butters and I trade a look. He glances back down at his phone. “Can you call my phone?” he asks.

“Why?”

“Please?”

I sigh heavily. I pull up his contact on my phone. I call him. I watch the corner of his mouth lift as his ringtone goes off. My eyes blow wide when I hear the beginning of “Come Sail Away.” Through gritted teeth, I say, “Oh, you bitch.”

Butters grins wide. He plunks himself into my lap, throwing his arm over my shoulders. As soon as the opening line comes, he declines the call.

I keep my mouth shut, struggling to not sing the rest. My whole body is begging me to. I can feel the words crawling up my throat. He pecks at me. And then I burst into song.

_“I’m sailing away_

_Set an open course for the Virgin Sea_

_‘Cause I’ve got to be free_

_Free to face the life that’s ahead of me—”_

Our friends jump at my outburst. Butters laughs hard as I continue to sing. I go through it as fast as my words can go. Once I’ve sang the whole song, I take a deep breath in. I hold my hand out to Butters. “Give me your phone,” I demand.

With a pout, he puts his phone in my open palm. I change his ringtone, then hand him back his phone. “Now you can go back to playing _Minecraft: Pocket Edition.”_

He puts his head on my shoulder. “Like you don’t, hypocrite,” he says.

“Yeah, but I’m way cooler at it than you.”

He gives me a look like  _ You really believe that? _

I grin, kissing his mouth.

He lifts his phone and turns it on. “What’d you change it to?” he asks.

_ “Not  _ that song, that’s for sure.”

Suddenly, the music lowers and a voice replaces it. “All seniors: please report to the theater. The presentation will begin in fifteen minutes. Please report to the theater. The presentation will begin in fifteen minutes.”

Everyone around our fire stops what they’re doing to trade looks. Kenny and Henrietta have stopped swaying, even as the music gets louder over the speakers. We look up to the sky. It’s a faded blue that signals the start of sunset. If the presentation is starting soon, that means the eclipse is too.

“We should probably go before they run out of glasses,” Kyle says.

“Oh y-yeah,” Jimmy muses.

We get to our feet and start towards the theater. Other kids are heading over, but I wanna make sure I get one of those glasses, so I weave me and Butters through the crowd of people. I hear him apologize when we bump into someone.

There are workers from the lake standing at the doors, handing out glasses. Butters and I grab one, going into the dark theater. They look like those old 3D glasses with the cardboard frame and plastic lenses. I put them on over my glasses. My vision goes black.

“Whoa, I can’t see anything out of these,” I say to Butters.

He laughs. He pushes up the glasses. “That’s ‘cause they’re ‘specially for eclipses. They’re so you don’t damage your eyes and go blind.”

“Blinder than I already am, you mean?”

“Yeah aight.”

I look at him. I hold in my laughter as I say, _“Never_ do that again, dude.”

He laughs.

We find seats in the third row, right in the middle. Our friends fill up the seats next to and behind us. I drop the eclipse glasses back over my actual glasses. Not able to see anything, I turn to Butters on my right. I rub my thumb over the back of his hand. “You look hot, B-Butts,” I say.

He laughs. “You can’t even _see.”_

“But I don’t need to see to know you’re hot,” I say.

“Aww.” I feel his lips on mine.

Just when we’re close to making out, someone lightly slaps my face. I jerk back from Butters, lifting the eclipse glasses and turning to the row behind me. Clyde snickers at us. He shares a look with Bebe he has his arm around. He says, “No PDA. There are children present.”

“Hey,” Butters says. “I ain’t a child anymore.”

We burst into laughter.

It feels longer than fifteen minutes when the doors to the theater close and the lights dim. A hush falls over the audience. The stage is empty except for a mic stand and a stool right in the center. A lady walks up on stage. The only light in the theater shines down on her. Her clothes that fan out behind her as she walks up to the mic. I realize she’s that same lady who asked me if Butters was my boyfriend in the pavilion.

I sigh deeply, rolling my eyes. I lean over to Butters’ ear, whispering, “Oh, God. It’s the fucking hippie again.”

He turns to me with narrowed eyes. Then he grins and kisses me. “Hush now,” he says.

Up on the stage, the lady says, “Hello, everybody. I’m Jane. How are you?”

The audience murmurs their responses.

Jane nods, pacing the length of the stage. She holds the microphone to her mouth. “That’s great! So, who’s excited for the eclipse?” Beaming, she raises her hand. “I know I am!”

As the audience laughs respectfully, I throw my head back and groan. “This is so fucking stupid,” I say.

Butters puts his chin on my shoulder. “Aww, c’mon. Don’t be such a downer. It’s barely started. Maybe it’ll get better.”

“Don’t give me false hope,” I say.

Jane says, “So everyone in my audience is a senior. Most of you probably—hopefully—know how an eclipse occurs. If you don’t, don’t be ashamed. You have so much going on in your lives that things like how solar eclipses occur might slip your minds. And that’s fine. Let me refresh your memory. Solar eclipses happen when the Earth and the sun line up exactly. With solar eclipses, the moon is right between the Earth and the sun. The lunar shadow covers a part of the Earth, and wherever that shadow lands, that part of the world experiences their total eclipse. As the moon passes over the sun, part of a shadow will start to be seen. This is called a penumbra. Once the moon is blocking the sun’s light completely, it’s called an umbra. With this eclipse today, you will be able to experience the umbra since Colorado is in the path of totality.”

As she speaks, the theater is filled with a slow, deep drum beat that follows every other syllable of her words. Her pacing is slowed, and her footsteps match the drum beats. Her voice loses its excitement and tones down to a steady murmur. She speaks like a poem. It’s hypnotic and oddly calming.

“But this isn’t about how eclipses occur, despite what you may believe. I see some of you out there tuning me out already. Give me a chance, won’t you? Eclipses don’t happen often. It’s even rarer to experience a total eclipse, where the world will go dark and give you a false sense of nighttime. But on this very day, you’ll see it. You’ll see the moon pass over the sun, dousing the daylight in darkness. Isn’t it crazy how everyone here in this room happened to be right where you are at this very moment to experience that? How is it possible that out of anywhere in the world, you’re here today, in this room? It’s all about chance isn’t?”

This lady, Jane, has captured my attention with nothing but words about the sun and moon and Earth. It’s unlike me to listen to something so boring like this so attentively. It seems that she has everyone else’s attention too. The theater is completely silent except for her voice. I glance at Butters on my shoulder. I push back his hair and see that his eyes are fixated on the stage. The blue of his eyes gleam in the light.

Jane stops behind the mic stand. She cups the microphone, locking it back into place. Her eyes sweep over the crowd. She smiles small. Her voice is soft, “I want you to close your eyes.”

My eyes fall shut automatically. Somehow I know everyone else in the theater has their eyes closed too.

“Now, I want everyone in this room to raise your hand if you’re in love. It doesn’t have to be with a person. It could be with a book, a scent, a color, an idea of something. It could be anything. I just want you to raise your hand high. Stretch your fingers to the ceiling. Don’t be ashamed to be in love.”

I feel my hand lift from my lap. It stands straight up in the air. I hear the rustle of clothes as others move to put their hands up. I feel Butters’ body move against mine as he does it too. The sound of the drum punctuates harder, more hypnotically. For a second, I wonder if we’re being hypnotized and brainwashed.

“Open your eyes and look around you.”

I open my eyes. I look around the theater. Everyone has their hand up. Everyone in the room. As I lower my hand, movement up above catches my eye. I tilt my head up, and in my peripheral, I see Butters doing the same. Above our heads is the galaxy swimming in color. Stardust clouds the ceiling. Stars wink. Planets are floating in the distance. The theater collectively breathes out in awe.

Butters points up at a big, bright star. “That’s Saturn,” he whispers.

I follow the tip of his finger. It’s not a star. It’s Saturn, just as he said. I look down to him, seeing the stars reflected in his eyes. Somehow, that’s more captivating than what’s above. A streak of light cuts across the ceiling. It’s followed by numerous more.

“Shooting stars,” Butters breathes.

Jane continues, “Seeing just how big the universe is, it makes you appreciate what you love, doesn’t it?” I look to her on the stage. She’s smiling up at the star-speckled ceiling. But then she looks out to the audience and makes eye contact with me. “It makes you feel like nothing else matters except for what you have in this current moment. It feels like it’s enough to be nothing but in love.”

I find myself staring at Butters and the stars in his eyes. His lips are parted in wonder. I can feel the drums beating in time with my heart. His eyes meet mine. He smiles without teeth. He lifts his head from my shoulder so he can kiss me deeply.

We’re still kissing when Jane says, “Despite this huge universe we live in, we managed to find the people and the things we love. What are the chances of that? It’s amazing how everything falls into place. Just as the moon falls between the sun and the Earth during an eclipse. Just as you and what or who you love fell into place for you. It’s time for the solar eclipse. This rare moment of time that you so happen get to experience. Cherish every moment of it. You may never see something like it again.”

Her conclusion is accompanied by a single, profound drum beat. Her single light shining down on her on the stage goes off at the same time.

The theater shuffles as people get to their feet and leave through the doors. The galaxy above stays gleaming. Everyone’s heads are tilted up as they exit.

My hand finds Butters’ as we file out of our row and into the aisle. I intertwine our fingers.

Everyone gathers out by the lake. Where we stand, we can see the sun shining right above the still water. Butters and I are right at the water’s edge. Our friends are at our sides.

The sky begins to darken. I can still hear the steady drum beats in my head. As the moon gets closer, my shadow below me sharpens. The sky gets darker. The light from the sun ebbs away. The orange light on Butters’ face slowly becomes shadow. He kisses me. When we pull back, the last piece of sunlight vanishes. The sun is a dark circle in the sky with the corona flaring behind it. The sky is a deep blue. The horizon above the water is orange. I can see the stars. Craig points out a bright orb and says it’s Venus. I even hear a few birds off in the trees start to sing their nightly song.

As the moon moves away from the sun, Butters and I put on our glasses. I pull him in front of me, keeping my arms secure around him. He leans into the embrace. We watch the moon shift away from the sun. With the glasses on and without sunlight making the sun fuzzy, the image of the moon moving away is sharp. The sun beneath is a bright orange. Once the sun is returned to the sky, I take off the glasses. The world is bright again.

Butters faces me and laughs, astonished. He puts his hands on my face, bringing me to him. Kissing him feels like the first time.

The speakers on the lights announce that we have half an hour before the buses begin to load.

Our friends are rejoicing, kissing and hugging like what we saw was something greater than an eclipse. Clyde’s crying.

Butters and I go back to the fire and sit on the logs surrounding it. I put my head on his shoulder. He runs his fingers through my hair. He wonders aloud, “It’s true—what that lady said. We live in this wide galaxy, and on this huge planet, and somehow, you and me managed to find each other. How’d we get so lucky?”

I put my hands in his, fitting my fingers in the spaces between his. “I guess things happen for a reason. God’s plan, you know?”

Butters nods. He starts mumbling “God’s Plan.” It makes me laugh.

It’s dark when the buses start to drive away from the lake. Our bus is quiet as people sink into tiredness. Butters leans his head against the window, staring up at the sky and the myriad of stars.

When he speaks, his voice is low and his eyes are on mine. “I’m in love with you. I don’t think I’ve ever said that aloud to you before.”

I smile drowsily at him. “I’m in love with you too.”

We share a soft kiss.

Butters sits up and cranes his neck back at the seats behind us. We’re in the front row behind the driver’s seat. We can see the whole rest of the bus from up here. “Look,” he whispers. He points his finger to the right side of the bus.

I look to where he’s pointing. In the middle of the bus, Kenny’s slumped into his seat. His eyes are closed as he sleeps, but he has his arm around Henrietta. She’s also asleep, her cheek resting on his chest. As I look around the bus, I see that everyone is in their same state except for us and the driver. Everyone’s sitting in doubles, leaning against each other.

Butters and I face forward. He slides his hand under mine on my thigh and locks our fingers. He lays his head on my shoulder, and I lay my head on top of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the Lana Del Rey "Love" music video.


	9. Eric Cartman

**Summer.**

The fact that we’re finally moving into the Boulder apartment Kenny claims is “perfect” is a mix of nervous and excited. The complex isn’t too far from the school. We could walk if we wanted. The exterior looks like any other apartment building, but it’s the inside that I’m more excited to see. When Kenny’s phone started sending pictures again, the apartment looked nicer than I thought it would be. If anything, it looks too nice to be a place to live in while in college.

On the second floor as we walk down the hall, I hear Butters’ breath catch. I squeeze his hand. He looks at me. He smiles when I smile at him.

Standing in front of the door, Kenny shoots the four of us a deranged grin. He rubs his hands together like he’s trying to warm himself. “Ready?” he says.

“Just open the door, Kenny. I’m dying here,” Kyle snaps. He gets moody when he’s nervous.

Kenny only grins wider, flourishing the key from his pocket. He sticks it into the door handle. He twists it, and he does it so slow that I wanna shove him aside to do it myself. I know he’s doing it on purpose. He’s purposely making us hold our breath and wait as our heartbeats pick up and our guts churn.

Then the door’s finally open and we’re all fighting to get in first. Kenny somehow manages to weasel his way through. He makes a grand gesture. “Gentlemen, welcome to your new home,” he says.

The apartment’s bigger than I imagined. Right down the middle is the kitchen and living room. The kitchen’s to my left. There isn’t anything special about it. It has an oven and stove, dishwasher and fridge. There’s a counter that looks like it could seat us all. Further down in the living room, there are two sofas. One is pressed up against the wall, one is facing me. Behind it is a balcony.

A violent wave of deja vu hits me. I have a mix of feelings in my gut. Something about this apartment is different. But what? I’ve never been here before.

I glance at my friends, and their brows are furrowed. They look around the apartment.

Kenny’s the first to shake off the look. He says, “So, yeah. This is the living room and kitchen.” He points to the right and left walls. “The bedrooms and bathrooms are there. There’s a bathroom on either side, and there’s four bedrooms because I figured, um…”

He’s looking at me and Butters. So are Stan and Kyle. I shrug at them. “What? You don’t think I’d want to share a room with Butters? We’ve been dating for almost five years, dumbasses,” I say.

“Yeah. You’re pretty much married,” Kyle quips.

I roll my eyes at him to compensate for the heat in my face. I lead Butters down to the right side of the apartment. There are three doors. The one in the middle is the bathroom. The two bedrooms are adjacent to it. I nudge Butters. “You choose,” I say.

His lips quirk to the side. He opens the door on his right. The door on the left is similar, except this one has more sunlight coming in. “This one,” he decides.

“Good choice,” I say.

We go into the room. The bed is queen-sized. The comforter and pillows are white. There’s a desk, empty bookshelves, and a walk-in closet. That’s about it. It’s nothing fancy, but it has everything we’ll need. Butters lays down on the bed, his hand still in mine. He stares up at me wistfully. “We’re gonna live here, Eric. For four years. Together.”

He says it like he can’t believe it’s reality. I grin down at him, trapping him in with my knees on either side of his hips. I kiss him, letting go of his hand to hold his face. I feel him smile against me.

Right when the kissing starts to get fervent and needy, the door swings open. I break the kiss to glare at Kenny. “What?” I demand.

He’s smirking, leaning against the doorframe. “Come help us unload the cars, fuckers,” he says. He leaves, pulling the door closed behind him.

I glance at Butters flushed under me. “That’s gonna start happening a lot, huh?” he says.

I sit back on my heels. “Not if we start locking the door again.”

We go back out to the parking lot where the cars are. Kenny rode with Stan and Kyle. Since Butters and I drove in my car, there’s more vacant space so most of the stuff was put with us by default. I unlock the car, and Kenny opens the trunk, gathering up as many boxes as he can.

“Are your parents coming down to help us and shit?” Kenny asks me as we approach.

“Yeah.”

Stan’s, Kyle’s, and my parents are all on their way to help us get situated and to bring the last of the stuff we might have left behind. When Butters and I successfully snuck into his room, we packed away all his stuff without his parents knowing. Butters never told them he’d live in an apartment in Boulder, but I have a feeling the Stotches already knew.

Kyle and Kenny are already on their way back up.

“Clyde’s not moving into his dorm for another few weeks, huh?” Stan asks. He has three boxes, all precariously balanced in his arms.

“I think so. I’m not sure,” I say.

I pick up my boxes of clothes. I tuck the smaller box under my chin so it doesn’t fall. Since the apartment is already furnished, we didn’t have to buy any IKEA furniture and make an attempt to decorate an apartment.

It takes us an hour to get everything out of the cars. Sitting in the living room, boxes scatter the floor and countertops. We’re all breathing heavily from the constant back and forth of going up and down the stairs. I have the least amount of boxes. When Butters and I were packing up my stuff, I ended up throwing out a bunch of clothes that no longer fit me or the ones I don’t wear anymore. Stan has the most. He still has a bit of a hoarding issue. It’s not as bad as before, but it’s still totally wack how he has ten boxes compared to our four or so.

Stan covers his face with his arm. “I can’t believe this place doesn’t allow pets. I’m gonna miss Sparky.” His voice shakes like he might cry. Kyle pats his arm.

“And I’m gonna miss Mr. Kitty. What are you gonna do?” I drawl.

“It’s probably better that we can’t have pets anyway,” Kyle says. “I mean, we’re gonna be in college. We’re gonna be studying, and we’re gonna have jobs. It’s going to be hard to take care of a pet with all that responsibility.”

“True,” Kenny says.

Stan just pouts.

The parents come two hours later. They bring housewarming gifts, like a plant that Butters instantly puts next to the balcony doors. Mom brings food and gives me some money that she makes me swear to spend on groceries and utensils only since the apartment didn’t come with any.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, Mom. I promise.”

She cups my cheeks, beaming. “You’re all grown up.” She has tears in the corners of her eyes.

I groan. “Mom, you don’t have to cry,” I hiss.

“But I do! You’re going to be living all on your own. Next thing I know, you’ll have a good job, and a house of your own, and you’ll be married—”

“Mom!” I protest. My face is hot, and I pointedly try not to glance at Butters on the couch with Kenny.

She laughs, kissing my cheek. Dad pulls me into a squeezing embrace. “See you next week when you come in for work again,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say. He gave me a week off so I could pack up all my stuff. Next week, I’m bringing Butters in with me so he can get interviewed. I already know Dad will give him the job, but he still has to do the interview.

Even though Butters’ and Kenny’s parents aren’t here to say goodbye, they still receive hugs from the other parents in the room. I even hear Mom telling Butters to look after me because I’ll be lost if he’s not there with me. I had to step in and shoo her and Dad out before they could embarrass me further.

Once the apartment is clear of parents, Butters turns to me as we sit on the couch. “Y’know I already know you need me, right?” he says, fighting off a smug smirk.

Kyle snickers behind his hand with Stan.

I roll my eyes at Butters. “I’d be perfectly fine without you, asshole,” I say.

Butters’ lips part around his teeth. “All right then. Wanna try it out?”

My answer is an immediate “No.”

Kyle and Stan burst into laughter, their eyes squeezed shut, rocking back and forth. Kyle has his shirt pulled up over his nose. Stan has tears wetting his cheeks.

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap at them. “Why don’t you go make out or something?”

That shuts them up, turning both of their faces red as they scowl at me. I smirk at them. “That’s why you chose the rooms next to each other, huh? So you can sneak over and fuck without making a scene.”

Kyle bares his teeth. He’s about to say something, but Kenny jumps to his feet. “Let’s go out to eat! Leo, you choose where,” he says.

Butters shrugs, tucking himself into my side. “I want pad thai.” He looks up at me, his hair brushing my chin. I kiss the scar over his left eye in silent agreement.

“Thai it is then,” Kenny says. “Let’s go now before dinner rush starts.”

Butters and I are in the car following Stan’s black electric Prius. I’m glad my car isn’t a pussy car like Stan’s.

“Wasn’t Kenny actin’ kinda odd?” Butters asks. He reaches over and turns up the radio so it’s just above a murmur.

“Kenny’s always weird,” I answer.

Butters sighs. “Y’know what I mean.”

I glance at him. “Like, are you thinking it has something to do with Henrietta?”

He shrugs, rubbing his knuckles together. “I’m real worried about him, Eric.” He bites his lip. I take one of his hands and hold it in my own.

“Kenny’s a big boy, B-Butts. He can handle a breakup.”

His lips quirk to the side like he doesn’t believe it. I kiss the back of his hand. He says, “You ever feel weird sometimes? Like you have constant deja vu, but somethin’ isn’t right?”

I frown. “Yeah,” I agree. “That’s how I felt about seeing the apartment earlier.”

Butters turns to me with wide eyes. “Do you think it’s, like, a sign? A bad omen?” he breathes.

I laugh. “Don’t buy into that hippie shit, Butters. It’s all crap anyway. It’s probably nothing.”

After coming back to the apartment from eating Thai, Butters and I go into the bathroom to brush our teeth. He meets me in our bedroom. He locks the door, standing against it.

I get up from the spot on the bed, walking over to him. I put my hands on his hips and kiss his mouth. He reciprocates heatedly. We find our way to the bed, discarding our clothes along the way. He lays down under me. I crawl on top of him.

We’re not used to keeping quiet. Back at my place, we’d fuck when no one was around. Even if someone happened to be in the house with us, we wouldn’t care. Since we’re gonna be living with our friends from now on, I guess staying quiet is the least we can do. Or maybe when it’s not too late, we can put on music like Mom suggested. I’m pretty sure that if anyone is still awake, they know what we’re doing. The bed is hitting the wall fast and loud.

The look on Butters’ face alone gets me off. His pale blue eyes are half-lidded. His eyelashes flutter with my every thrust. His lips are parted as he breathes heavily. He whimpers and moans, squeaking out my name. His blushing skin glistens with sweat. I love seeing his face. It’s the best part.

We both finish, and we crawl under the covers. We kiss tiredly. He puts his arms around my neck, and I pull him closer to me. The first night spent in our new apartment is a good one, I’d say.


	10. Butters Stotch

**College, freshman year.**

It’s a Thursday, and Eric and I’ve just gotten home from our last class of the day. We’ve just started to take off our shoes when Eric’s ringtone starts blasting. He picks up, putting the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Mom—” His eyebrows furrow. Then his eyes widen, looking at me. His face pales. “Yeah... yeah. We’ll be there right away.” He hangs up, saying to me, his voice cracking, “Put your shoes back on. Mr. Kitty died.”

His bluntness is like a blow to the head.

“Wh-what?” I exclaim. I shove my feet back into my shoes.

He escorts me out of the apartment with a hand to the small of my back, hastily locking up again. His hands shake as he turns the key. We get in his car. I pull out from the parking spot and turn hastily onto the road. I run my fingers through his hair, assuring him it’ll be okay. His bottom lip trembles, and he blinks hard.

By the time we get to Eric’s house in South Park, we find the door unlocked. Roger and Liane are sitting on the couch together. Liane covers her eyes with her hands. Her shoulders shake with sobs.

“Where is she?” Eric demands.

Roger looks up. His eyes are rimmed red behind his glasses. “Backyard, kiddo,” he says softly.

Eric storms through the living room and into the backyard. I follow at his heels. Sitting on the faded backyard table’s a shoebox. With shaking fingers, Eric lifts the lid. He makes a sound at the back of his throat, clapping a hand over his mouth. I rub his back, my own eyes pricking at the lifeless body of Mr. Kitty in the box. She would look asleep if not for the stillness of her body.

“I found her like that this morning.” We turn, and Liane and Roger are standing by the sliding glass doors. She sniffles, continuing, “She was lying on your bed, Eric, on your pillows. I thought she was asleep. I set her food bowl down next to the bed. She usually gets up right away and starts eating, but she didn’t. I called her a couple of times. Then I went to pet her, and she was cold and not breathing. Oh, Eric. I’m so sorry.”

Eric’s had Mr. Kitty for fourteen years of his life, and suddenly she’s gone.

His eyes are dry despite his shaken composure. Instead of saying anything, he turns around. He sticks his hand in the box, slowly stroking his fingers over Mr. Kitty’s fur. He puts the lid back over. He pulls me into him, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

I hold him to me, whispering how Mr. Kitty loved him so much, and now she’s in a better place. She lived a long happy life. She had an amazing, caring owner.

I follow Eric up back to his old room. At the foot of the bed is Mr. Kitty’s cat bed and the untouched bowl of food. He sits next to it, staring down at the mess of toys around Mr. Kitty’s sleeping space.

Eric picks up a plush mouse toy that’s torn up and missing an eye. “Do you think she missed me? While I was gone?” he asks. He looks up at me, his eyes red.

I smooth his hair and kiss his face. “Of course she did, Eric. She loved you,” I murmur to him.

He sighs shakily. “I should’ve come and visited on weekends like Stan does for Sparky. Then maybe—”

“Hey, hey,” I coo, holding his face in my hands, making him look at me. “This ain’t your fault, Eric. Things like this happen. It’s just the cycle of life. Everything dies. Bacteria, plants, animals. Everything’ll be gone one day. Even me and you. We all will. Death ain’t something to be feared.”

As I run my thumbs over Eric’s bottom lip, his hands ghost my scar and my neck, as if reliving the run-ins I’ve had with death.

His hands gently touching my neck reminds me of what Kenny said to me at that party Bebe hosted junior year. He said Eric didn’t care about me, not caring if I jumped out that window and died instead of just broken my neck. But I don’t think he wouldn’t’ve cared. He would’ve acted like it, but only because Eric puts up masks to keep others from seeing his true emotions. He probably would’ve cared more than anyone. Even though Kenny and them have been friends with Eric longer, I know him better. He _would’ve_ cared if I’d died that day, and I _know_ he would care if I died today or any day in the future.

Thirty minutes later, we go back downstairs. Liane and Roger are still in the backyard. Roger’s digging a shallow hole in the grass. He looks up at us in the doorway. “Wanna do the honors?” he says to Eric.

Eric takes the shoebox from the table. He crouches by the shallow hole. “B-Butts, can you go get her toys please?” he asks.

I run upstairs and grab the mouse toy, along with a little fish and rattle ball. I hand them to Eric back in the yard. The box is in the ground now. He opens the lid and puts in the toys with Mr. Kitty. He puts his fingertips to his lips, using that hand to brush back Mr. Kitty’s fur. He closes the box and stands, teetering a bit. I grasp his arm to keep him upright. Roger holds out the shovel to him. Eric covers the box in dirt.

When the hole is covered, the only evidence a brown patch in the green grass, Eric holds me tight to him like I might be the one he’ll have to bury next. I hide my face in his chest, letting the tears surge up to my eyes.

I remember the nights spent at Eric’s. We would be laying in bed watching movies on his laptop, and Mr. Kitty would jump up and squeeze herself between us. I remember waking up to a tickling under my nose, and seeing it was her tail as she somehow wiggled herself up to the pillows. She was such a good, sweet cat.

We leave an hour later. He still doesn’t cry. Eric drives us to McDonald’s. We eat in the parking lot, the radio buzzing between us.

The rest of the drive back to the apartment is in silence. It’s close to midnight by the time we leave the warmth of the car to walk through the cold January air. The apartment’s warm inside too. I’d told Kyle, Stan, and Kenny about Mr. Kitty over text. In the living room, Stan and Kyle ask if he’s okay. Eric just shrugs and disappears into our room.

I toss the empty McDonald’s bag into the trash. I realize it’s just Kyle and Stan huddled under a shared blanket. They’d started dating in early December after Kyle and Heidi broke up in September.

“Where’s Kenny?” I ask.

Kyle says, “He went out.”

“Probably to Henrietta,” Stan adds. “He didn’t say specifically.”

“Has he talked to any of you about that?” I ask them. We all know he goes to Henrietta regularly despite them being broken up. We don’t ask him about it, and he doesn’t bring it up.

“Nope,” Stan says.

“Never,” Kyle says.

I sigh, walking into the kitchen and opening the fridge to get a bottle of water. I take a sip, my mouth dry. In middle school and elementary, Kenny dated around. He never stayed with a girl more than a month. The only one he’s shown long-term interest in is Henrietta.

I put my forehead on the cool door of the fridge, relaxing my shoulders.

“How’s Cartman doing?” Stan asks softly.

“He’s upset, naturally. But… I dunno. He’s had that cat since he was five. Mr. Kitty was there for him when no one else was. She was there for him when I couldn’t be. Losing her’s hard for him,” I say.

Stan and Kyle are quiet.

“Animals shouldn’t be allowed to die,” Stan mumbles.

“Stan,” Kyle says in quiet scolding.

“They shouldn’t.” I look up to see Stan staring down at his cross necklace in his palm. He’s worn it since middle school, and I’ve never seen him without it.

“I-I’m gonna go to bed, fellas. See you in the morning,” I say, standing and starting towards my room.

“Night,” they say.

The lights in mine and Eric’s room are off. The curtains are closed. Eric’s day clothes are on the floor, and he’s in bed, his back facing me. I crawl into bed, putting my hand on his shoulder. He’s in his pajamas, staring blankly at the wall.

“Drink some water, Eric,” I say, holding out the bottle to him.

He takes it from me, gulping it down till it’s empty. He screws the cap back on, abandoning it in his lap. And that’s when he starts crying. He’s quiet about it, not making a sound as tears roll down his face. I pull him to me, throwing the empty bottle into the trash on my side of the bed.

I let him cry on me. He grips my shirt. I don’t say anything this time, allowing him to let it all out as I kiss him gently.

Eventually, he gets out, “I miss her. I wish I treated her nicer. She didn’t deserve to be yelled at by me all the time.”

“Oh, Eric,” I murmur against his cheek. I wipe away the stray tear that escapes down his nose. “Is that what this is about? There ain’t nothin’ you can do to change the past, but what matters is that you grew from that. You started treatin’ her better once you realized what you were doin’ was wrong. All that matters now is that she died lovin’ you. Don’t lose sleep over it, okay?”

Eric makes a whining sound at the back of his throat. “But it was still fucked—”

I shut him up with a rough kiss, trying to pour all my emotions into it. His hand falls to the small of my back, kissing back hesitantly. Slowly, his tears dry on his cheeks. His arms tighten around me.

I tell him, “Everything’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine, and Mr. Kitty’s gonna be fine.” I kiss his forehead. “Trust me, Eric. There’s nothin’ to regret.”

He nods, tucking me into his side and squeezing me like I’m his lifeline.


	11. Butters Stotch

**College, freshman year.**

The early morning air of March chills my cheeks. It’s spring break, and me and all my friends decided to spend it back home in our not-so-sleepy hometown, South Park. Snow crunches underfoot, and the trees rustle as their newly growing leaves brush against each other. I walk down the sidewalk alone to the basketball courts. It feels as if I haven’t been here in years. The bag I’m carrying thumps against my leg.

It’s the twenty-second today. It’s Kenny’s nineteenth birthday. Eric is back at home, sleeping. It’s too early for him to wake up on a break. Stan and Kyle are also asleep. We’re all meeting up tonight for Kenny’s birthday dinner, but right now, Kenny and I are spending the morning together.

Approaching the playground, I spot Kenny standing atop the pirate ship. “Ahoy, matey,” he says with a bad pirate accent. He waves at me, grinning wide. I can tell he’s just woken up. His hair’s a mess, but then again, Kenny’s never tended to his hair even when we were kids.

I laugh, waving back. “I shoulda brought my eyepatch. I think I still have that thing,” I call to him.

He grips the railing, laughing dramatically as he leans back.

I join him up on the pirate ship. I look out to the empty basketball court. All the memories made here are fuzzy now. I muse, “I feel so tall up here. I remember when this pirate ship was the biggest thing I’d ever seen.”

He snorts, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “There’s a dick joke in there somewhere, but I’m not gonna make it.”

I give him a look. He grins, showing off all his teeth and the gap on the left side. For a moment, I get lost in his smile. I haven’t been him smile like this since him and Henrietta were still together. There’s something about it that makes my heart heavy. He stares back. His lips close over his teeth, but he’s still smiling at me. His violet eyes gleam. They’re familiar, but not in the way they used to be. They’re familiar for a reason I don’t have an answer for. They’re riveting.

I take a breath in, looking ahead at the houses across the street to get back on thought. I glance down at the yellow bag I have in my hand. “I brought your birthday gift.” I hold it out to him. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

He gingerly takes it from me, his smile softening. “You didn’t have to, Leo,” he murmurs.

I nod. “No, I did. You’re nineteen. It’s your last year as a teenager. Sorta. It should be special,” I say.

He tilts his head. “You’ve been nineteen since September.”

“I know. But still,” I say.

Kenny sits down on the pirate ship, dangling his legs over the side. He picks at the rip of the knee in his black jeans. “If I’d known that, I would’ve gotten you something better than a lousy backpack for your birthday,” he says.

“Well, hey,” I say. “I needed a new backpack, and the one you got me was perfect!”

He looks up and smiles a bit. His golden hair blows across his forehead as a breeze comes by. I don’t hesitate to brush it from his face. “You need a haircut,” I say.

He lifts his hand and presses his thumb to his multiple earrings. “I know.” He hits his tongue piercing across the back of his teeth, creating individual clicking sounds. “It’s just… Henrietta used to cut my hair for me.”

My mouth drops to an O.

He shrugs, dropping his arm. “I’ll get a haircut soon.” He remembers the gift and puts it in his lap. “Thanks for this, Leo.”

I lean back on my hands. “Oh don’t thank me till you’ve seen what’s inside.”

He looks at me suspiciously. I grin at him. He slowly pulls out the tissue paper. My stomach does flips in anticipation of his reaction.

“I hope you like it,” I blurt when he starts to reach into the bag.

He glances at me. “I’m sure I will. You know me better than anyone.”

I smile. He takes out a sleek black ukulele. His jaw drops. He spins around to me. “Holy fuck. How did you know? I’ve been thinking about buying a ukulele for months.”

I laugh, shrugging. “Intuition, I guess.”

Whenever I see Kenny, I have this visual-less memory of him playing the ukulele. I don’t see him playing it, but I can hear it. I can hear him singing along.

He tunes it, plucking the strings individually. When it sounds good, he strums it. He closes his eyes and grins in the old way he used to. “Thank you so much, Leo. This is the greatest gift ever.” His eyes open and he says, “Any song recommendations?”

I say, “None. You choose. It’s your birthday.”

He drums his fingers on the body of the ukulele. Soon, it turns into rhythmic tapping. He plucks the strings. As the tune comes together, I gasp. “I love this song!” I exclaim.

He laughs. “Then sing it with me.”

He counts me in, and we sing: _“Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo_

_Here comes the sun, and I say_

_It’s all right…”_

I watch as Kenny becomes a part of the music as he plucks the riff. He keeps singing, and I’m mesmerized. I watch his fingers jump between the strings.

The first time I heard Kenny sing this song, I was twelve. It was the summer before seventh grade. Me and the rest of Stan’s gang went to Stark’s Pond. Kenny had his head in my lap as he sung. I remember how nice it was to be like that, feeling the summer breeze and hearing his voice. I remember how peaceful he looked when he fell asleep once the song ended.

I put my head on his shoulder. He puts his head on top of mine.

As he sings, I find myself admiring the side of his face. Freckles dance across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. They trail down to his neck and disappear beneath the collar of his shirt to continue marching over shoulders. His hair falls across his brow. His eyes are focused on the ukulele. I count the earrings of his left ear. He has five. Three black studs in his lobe, two rings in his upper ear. He told me when he got them that they’re cartilage piercings, and he told me he got pierced with a needle. I have no idea how he’s done that nine times. He has three other piercings in his right earlobe that mirror the left. He has his tongue piercing too. I bite down on my tongue at the thought of something sharp going through it.

My eyes are drawn to the gap in Kenny’s teeth. It’s one of the first things strangers notice about him when meeting him for the first time. The gap doesn’t make him any less attractive. If anything, it adds more to his allure.

I love that gap in his teeth. It makes Kenny Kenny. He wouldn’t be the same without it.

He ends the song with a single down strum. He says, “Have I ever said something along those lines to you?”

I ask, “What along which lines?”

Kenny bites his lip, strumming random chords. “Well, you know how the song goes _‘Here comes the sun, it’s all right’?_ I swear I’ve said something to you like it’s gonna be all right. Or to not worry about… something. I—I’m not sure,” he says.

I furrow my eyebrows. My head thrums. “I feel like I know what you’re describin’, but no clear image comes to mind,” I tell him.

Kenny stops strumming. He glances at my hand, then he slides his fingers between mine. He mumbles, “Ever feel like you’re missing something about someone? Like, you used to know it, but now you can’t remember?”

“Yeah. I feel that about you.” We lock eyes. “All the time.”

His violet eyes are wide. “Like, it’s something important?”

I jolt upright. “Yeah! Like there’s a word on the tip of your tongue but you can’t say the word ‘cause you’re blankin’ out too much!”

“It’s exactly that!” Kenny exclaims.

I feel like we should laugh it off. The subject isn’t funny though. How is it possible we both feel like we’re missing something about each other? And what is it?

“I feel weird kissin’ Eric around you.”

The words come out fast, and I realize they’re mine.

I sit back, stunned by my own words. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s true. Ever since moving into the apartment with all my friends, it feels wrong to kiss Eric when Kenny’s there. I dunno why, or when it started, but I try to avoid kissing Eric and Eric’s attempts to kiss me when Kenny’s around.

Kenny’s brows furrow. He grazes his thumb over the back of my hand. “Don’t feel weird about it. I know you guys love each other, and I don’t judge.”

“I—I know you won’t, but…”

I don’t finish my sentence. I don’t think I could if I tried though. I’ve fully processed I’m still holding Kenny’s hand. Back when we were kids, we used to hold hands. It wasn’t often we held hands. We held hands when we felt the moment was right.

There are two vivid moments I remember holding his hand. The first was in fourth grade, at the airport before the flight to Kauai. The second was during the same summer as when Kenny sang with his head in my lap. It was the night previous, a sleepover at Stan’s. I fell asleep with Kenny’s hand in mine.

“You’re my best friend, Leo.” Kenny whispers it quietly, but I hear it.

I look at him, smiling and squeezing his hand. “You’re my best friend too, Ken.”

The words _I love you_ threaten to jump past my lips. I love Kenny, and I always have. He’s my best friend. But holding back these words, they mean something more than friendly affection. I wish I could say that’s never been there before.

When I feel I’ve lost sense of reality late at night, I wonder how things would be if I kissed Kenny back at that party in junior year. When I was younger, I’d always known Kenny would be my best friend till the end of time. He was the only one there for me when I’d been rejected by everyone else. Not even Eric was there for me like that.

It’s not that I regret spending my years with Eric and deciding to spend the rest of my years with him. I only ponder the outcomes of my life in an alternate universe. Besides, Kenny’s had Henrietta on his mind since we were fifteen.

I check the time on my phone, seeing that it’s almost eleven. Eric should be waking up by now.

Kenny notices, and says in a soft voice, “Time for farewells?”

I look up at him, smiling. “Only till tonight. We still got your birthday dinner at TGI Fridays.”

He smiles back. “Thanks again for the gift. I love it.”

I laugh, and it’s breathless. “Well, you did say I know you best.”

He’s so close. His nose is inches from mine. I can feel his breath on my face, mingling with mine in the cool air. For a second, I entertain the idea of kissing him while he’s sober, so he’ll remember it. But then I remember Eric, how he’s just waking up. He’s probably expecting me home soon. I know I can’t betray Eric like that.

My mind’s blank walking back to Eric’s. I keep my hands in the pockets of my jacket. I go into the house, and I find Eric on the couch, playing _Mario Kart._ “Hey,” he greets. “Come play with me.”

I shed my shoes and my jacket, joining him on the couch. I pick up the other controller on the coffee table. Eric leaves his current game and starts a new one. As I’m choosing a character, he says, “Remember how we used to kiss every time one of us won a round?”

I smile. “How could I forget?”

He shares my smile. “We should do that again.”

“All right,” I agree.

During the first two laps, Eric and I are head to head. We’re leaning forward on the couch, as if we’re actually in the karts zooming down the wacky racetrack. My heart in my chest’s running as fast as the karts. I’m so close to the finish line. I’ve never won the first round of _Mario Kart_ before. I’m only a few seconds away when Eric blasts ahead. I shout at him when he tosses a banana peel that my kart slips over.

“I was _this_ close!” I scream, pinching the air between my fingers.

Eric laughs boisterously. “Tough shit, Butters. I won.” He smirks at me, tapping his controller against his palm, waiting.

I cross my arms, trying to be defiant. I keep my gaze fixated on the colorful TV screen. My eyes flicker back to his. He’s still sitting all smug-like. I break, sighing deeply. I scoot closer. I lean in close, kissing him fleetingly on the mouth. He breaks out in a grin.

“New round?” he asks.

“Fine.”

Eric wins that round too, and the rounds following. Each time he crosses the finish line, I kiss him right on the mouth, real quick.

“I got no game today,” I say, pulling back.

Eric laughs. “Yeah, you don’t.”

Two hours later, we’re neck and neck again. I feel like I might actually win this one, but I don’t dare speak it aloud, or I might jinx it. I bite my lip hard, my arms tense. I use my Bullet Bill boost, and I cross the finish line in first place. I explode in excitement.

“HA! Get cucked, you fucking _bitch!”_ I exclaim.

Eric gapes at me. “Who taught you to speak like that?” he asks.

I realize my arms are up in the air. I drop them to my sides. “You did.”

His face twists up. He taps his chin. “Hm, I can’t seem to recall.”

I give him a light shove, keeping myself on him. I look up at him. “I won, so you owe me a kiss as a prize.”

He rolls his eyes, taking my face in the palms of his hands. He gazes deep into me for a moment. I watch his eyes flick over my face. They settle on my mouth. Then he gets close, his nose lined with mine. I feel his puffs of breath drifting over my skin. My lips part like I’m gonna say something. Nothing comes out. Eric’s thumbs start moving back and forth over my cheeks. My heart stutters.

He kisses me softly, captivating me with the movement of his lips. I sit there, my lips parted against his, my face in his hands. My eyes flutter shut. He steals my breath and makes it his own. His right hand slides around my neck. He moves his thumb over my pulse. He tilts his head, opening his mouth against mine. I hear our teeth click. His tongue grazes mine. I feel it explore around before rounding back to my lips. He licks my bottom lip. His teeth replaces his tongue, gently biting. He pulls away. He picks up his controller.

“Let’s play another round,” he says.

I slump into him, my head on his chest. My heart hammers in my ears. I’m breathing heavily. “I—I don’t wanna anymore.”

His fingers go through my hair and stay there at the nape of my neck for a moment. “Okay.”

I feel I’ve been put in my place, and that’s exactly what’s happened. Nobody but Eric can come around and remind me who owns me like he can.

He changes the game, going from the Switch to the Xbox One. I watch him play different games until it’s time to go to TGI Fridays.

Stan and Kyle are already seated when we arrive. They’ve got waters in front of them. Kyle’s flipping through the menu.

“Kenny’s coming in five minutes,” Stan tells us.

We sit across from them. A waitress comes by and asks what Eric and I will like to drink. I get a Dr Pepper. Eric gets an iced tea.

Five minutes pass, and Kenny doesn’t show. It’s been fifteen minutes. I text him after Stan and Kyle text him and receive no reply. It takes him a while to respond, but when he does, he says he’s two minutes away. Kenny finally joins us less than two minutes later. He’s got no sense of time. He collapses into the seat at the head of the table.

“Hey, guys,” he says breathlessly.

“You’re late,” Kyle drawls, “to your own birthday.”

All of us take in his appearance. His clothes are rumpled and twisted like he was in a rush to put them on. His jacket is tied hastily around his waist. His hair’s all messy. It sticks up in odd places. I notice that it’s shorter than it was when I saw him this morning. If it weren’t for the red spot forming just under his right ear, you’d think he went out for an ordinary haircut.

Kenny puts his foot up onto his chair so he can tie the laces of his boots. His left boot is falling apart at the toe. The sole’s pulling away from the shoe. The laces are frayed. Kenny’s had those boots since high school, and even then, they were his brother’s first. He takes a silver stud from his pocket. He sticks his tongue out and screws the stud back in.

Eric makes a retching noise.

Stan says, “Can’t you do that in the bathroom or something?”

Kenny shrugs, wiping his hands on his ripped jeans. “No use.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “Your fly’s down,” he states matter-of-factly.

Kenny quickly zips up. He takes a drink from his water, surveying the menu in front of him. His leg bounces. I hear the _click click click_ coming from his closed mouth as he taps his piercing against his teeth.

A different waiter comes by and asks what we’d like to order.

“I’m just gonna get a burger,” Kenny says.

I stay silent as the others murmur what they’re gonna get. When our server looks to me, I say, “Oh, I’ll just share with him.” I gesture to Eric. I’m not hungry enough to eat a whole burger by myself.

The server nods and walks away.

Conversation is idle. Everyone seems to avoid talking about the reason Kenny was late to his own birthday dinner at his favorite restaurant. The mood starts to lighten once the food arrives. When our plates are empty, we order dessert. We don’t tell our server it’s Kenny’s birthday. We can tell he wants little attention right now. He’d probably kill us if we had the staff sing to him, drawing the attention of everyone within earshot to him. Kenny orders red velvet cake. Stan sticks a candle in the top when it arrives with the rest of our desserts. Kenny takes his lighter from his back pocket and lights the candle. We sing to him quietly.

When he blows out the little dancing flame, we clap. I ask, “What’d you wish for?”

Kenny shrugs. “I forgot about wishing.”

I can tell he’s lying.

Everyone gives Kenny his gifts. Stan and Kyle get Kenny a pair of brown Doc Martens. Kenny says loves them. He stands and hugs Kyle. He reaches across Kyle to hug Stan. I see how Stan squeezes Kenny tightly. Kyle gets him a gift card to add to the boots. Eric gives Kenny a gift card worth forty-five dollars.

We leave the restaurant and go to the parking lot. Kenny stands behind a black Subaru. Stan looks around worriedly. “Um, I don’t think we should be hanging around someone’s car,” he says.

Kenny takes a set of keys from the back pocket of his jeans. “This is my car.” He presses the car key, unlocking it. He opens the trunk and puts his gifts down.

Kyle says, “This is your car? When did you get it?”

Kenny sits on the rim of the trunk. “Today. I got it as a gift.”

Nobody asks who gifted him the car.

Kenny takes the ukulele I gave him from the trunk. He starts playing. We lean against the car, listening to the cheery tune of the ukulele. Kenny hums along, but he never sings actual words. I lean my back against Eric. His arms cross over my chest.

When the song ends, Kenny gives each of us a hug goodbye, thanking us for an awesome nineteenth birthday. I make sure to hug him extra tight. “Happy birthday,” I say.

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks.”

Eric leads me by the hand to the Mustang. I watch over my shoulder as Kenny gets into his new car. With the light still on inside, I see him put the seat belt over his chest. He puts his hands on the wheel. His shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh. His head falls forward to the wheel. The light in the car fades until he’s nothing but a silhouette.


	12. Henrietta Biggle

**College, sophomore year.**

I know all the words to “Annabel Lee” by heart. I learned it in eighth grade. Despite having memorized it in three days, it isn’t my favorite poem. Sure, she died and left her lover depressed, but it’s still about love. Love is saved for fairy tales and sappy Hollywood romance movies.

“Annabel Lee” is my least favorite poem by Edgar Allan Poe. It’s a shame it was the last complete poem he wrote before he died.

Firkle’s reading it aloud. The others and I are in my room. We haven’t hung out together as our original group of four since Michael was still in high school. Now only Firkle is in high school. He’s sixteen in his junior year. I can still remember so vividly when he was still in kindergarten. Back then, things were simple. We drifted through life. Now we’re drowning in it.

Firkle finishes reading the poem. I stare down at my knees. I’m in a black lace bustier and my freaking matching panties. It was never a priority of mine to cover up for my friends when I started wearing things like this. It’s not something you would wear in front of your friends. It’s more something you would wear for your boyfriend.

My lip twitches at the word.

I don’t let it show on the outside, but I miss him. I miss Kenny.

Maybe that’s why I can’t stand “Annabel Lee.” No, I know that’s why I can’t stand it. It reminds me of Kenny. Before, I couldn’t stand the gushing. But after being in love and understanding the words better than I thought I had, it’s bittersweet. Now I can’t stand it because I imagine myself as Annabel Lee and Kenny as the speaker. I can’t stand it because like the speaker mourns Annabel Lee, Kenny mourns our relationship. It makes me feel guilty to know I’m the reason for the dullness of his eyes.

Kenny took the breakup worse than I thought. Seeing him that first time during our senior picnic, I was almost afraid. I was sure he’d hate me. Deep down, I know I shouldn’t care.

Except that I totally I do.

I realize the others have fallen quiet. I look up and relax my fists.

“What?” I ask.

Their lips stay sealed. They glance at one another.

One of the things I dislike most about being the only girl in the group is that Michael, Pete, and Firkle act like they have to be careful with me. Like I’m this china doll that will shatter at a single fumbling. They started acting like this when we hit middle school. I reminisce the days where they spoke to me unguarded. Now they choose their words carefully. I wish I could tell them I’m not fragile, but I can never. I don’t have the strength, and that makes me wonder if I really am the china doll they see me as.

“Is everything okay?” Michael asks.

Aside from filtering their words to a frustrating degree, they constantly feel the need to ask about my emotions. If I’m quiet for too long, or if my body language seems tense, they ask me: _Is everything okay? Is something bothering you? Do you want to talk about it? Do you want us to leave you alone for a moment? Should we get Karen?_

And that’s the other thing. I love having Karen a part of our group. She makes it feel complete. But ever since she joined us and ever since that change in middle school, the others ask if they need to get Karen. With Karen, they think, I’ll be more comfortable with opening up about my emotions because she’s  a girl too, and she’ll understand my emotions more than they could.

But whether it’s with them or with Karen, I can never find myself coming clean about what’s bottled up inside. That’s what caused the change. My friends noticed that I had finally found something hard to talk about with them. I used to tell them everything. And one day they could tell I was holding something back. The only person I’ve found myself communicating my emotions with was Kenny. There was always something about him that was different to me. He’s not like anyone in this town, in this world. He’s something unique and safe.

So if I’m a china doll, Kenny’s my protective case. But I lost that case, and now I’m susceptible to shattering to pieces again.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

Michael, Pete and Firkle look down to their laps. Firkle runs his hands over the pages of the book.

“Can I see that?” I ask him. I hold out my hand. He gives me the book.

I skim over the poem, the words swimming before my eyes. With every line, my chest burns hotter until I’m scowling and gripping the book so hard the pages strain against my grasp. I growl in frustration, hurling the book at my closet. I throw myself down to the pillows of my bed, my hands pressed into my stinging eyes.

“I hate that poem!” I scream. “I hate it!”

I’m a china doll, and I’ve been pushed off the shelf without a case to protect me. I’ve fallen to the floor and broken into unfixable pieces.

I’m crying.

I can feel how shocked my friends are without having to look at them. The room is as still as they stare. After two embarrassing sobs later, I feel my bed dip beneath added weight. Hands lift me up into a sitting position. I blink blearily at Pete and Michael. Firkle’s next to me, his hand on my back.

I’ve never felt embarrassed around them. But as I wipe away the mascara tracks running down my face, my ears burn hot and I can’t meet their eyes.

I attempt to stifle my sobs, biting my lip until I’ve been reduced to shaking shoulders and loud sniffling. Pete hands me a tissue, and I use it to dab my eyes.

The door to my room opens, and I’m prepared to tell whichever parent it is to get out, but then I make eye contact with violet.

My sniffling ceases. My shoulders stop shaking. My hand falls limp in my lap.

Kenny’s standing in my doorway, staring right back at me.

He says nothing but, “Oh.”

Michael takes the cigarette hanging from his lip and presses it into the ashtray on my bedside table. “What are you doing here, Kenny?” he asks, though his tone of voice hints he knows the answer.

Kenny stutters. “I—I just wanted to stop by…” His words trail off as our eye contact remains unbroken. He takes a breath in, and when he speaks, his words leave him like a sigh. “Are you okay?” he asks me.

I glance at the discarded book at the foot of my closet.

Pete, Michael, and Firkle trade looks. Firkle says to me, “We’ll be downstairs.” They stand up. At my door, they brush past Kenny as they leave. Michael closes the door behind him.

Silence pursues between me and Kenny. I watch him fidget where he stands. He surveys the room, his face frowning. I imagine all the memories of us are floating through his mind. His eyes find mine again. I press my crumpled tissue to my mouth, biting down on the inside of my cheek.

I don’t burst into tears like I had with my friends. The tears roll down one by one at first. It’s worse this way. It hurts more. I fall onto my side, crying silently to myself. It’s instantly that Kenny has his arms around me. Unlike my friends, he doesn’t hesitate. He holds me to his chest. His fingers run through my hair, gently untangling the knots.

“I’m sorry,” I force out. “I’m sorry I put us in this mess.”

“It’s okay. I know. I know.”

“It kills me for you to be away,” I say.

He stops stroking my hair. I can feel the cogs churning in his mind. “If it kills you, then why—”

I exclaim, “Because I didn’t want to watch you fall out of love with me, okay? Nobody gets me like you do. I’ve never loved _anyone_ the way I love you. I couldn’t stand the thought of you leaving, so I walked away before you could!”

He takes both of my hands in his, staring into my eyes. “Princess, you know I love you, right? Don’t you know I’d never leave you?”

“How do you know that?”

His thumbs stroke my cheeks. His smile is faint. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

I look away, blinking away tears. I take a breath in, letting it out shakily. My hands cover his. “You’re the same to me,” I murmur.

His eyes search mine. His voice is begging when he whispers, “Take me back.”

My sobs sound like I’m being torn apart.

When I’ve calmed to a sniffle, I shake in his arms.

He says softly, “It’s been two years. We were eighteen when we broke up. We’re twenty now. I know I haven’t graduated, but, Henri. I can’t see myself with anybody except you. I guess you could say I haven’t tried looking, but I have. During class, at work. None of them make me feel the way you do. No one compares to you. And I know you’re just trying to do what’s best for me, but maybe _you’re_ what’s best for me. Have you ever considered that?”

I continue to tremble like a loose leaf in the wind. “I was scared,” I blurt.

His arms tense around me. “Scared?” he echoes.

“I—I was scared. No one else makes me feel the way you make me feel, and that freaked me out. I thought it was conformist, you know? Michael and Pete have been with people before, but they’ve never felt what I feel. Remember that night driving to prom? How I told you I had a sugar daddy, and that I would’ve dated you sooner if it weren’t for our contract? Well, it made me realize—it made me realize that I’ve felt something about you since freshman year. No—longer. Remember fourth grade? Casa Bonita? You were in that stupid superhero costume, and we were rescuing Karen from the vampires. That’s where it all started, I think.”

I cup a hand over my mouth to muffle my sobs. He rubs my back. He lowers us down to the pillows. He listens silently as I continue, “And I don’t think I realized it until freshman year. I started playing hard to get so I wouldn’t have to accept the fact that you made me completely _melt._ You made me feel like I mattered, like I wasn’t just put on this planet to suffer. You made me feel like I had a _purpose._ You—you were like glue and you pieced my broken shards back together. And I realized all this that night, talking to you in the car on the drive to the venue. And suddenly all the times I’d told you I’d love you didn’t matter because it was at that moment I _honestly_ fell in love with you. I was just too selfish to keep it.”

Kenny’s arms tighten around me. He tucks my head under his chin. “You’re not selfish. You’re anything but.”

I shake my head, squeezing his shoulders. “I am, though. I let it go, like all the good things that happen to me. I let it go and pretend it didn’t exist. That’s why I said it was okay for you to come see me if you wanted. I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me. Because, deep down, I knew I wouldn’t be able to let you go so easy. I was ignorant and blind. I’d never felt true misery until I went home that night and sat on my bed in pure darkness, regretting what I’d done but knowing it was too late to go back. Every day since then, I’ve _dreamed_ that you’d demand we get back together. But when you do, I refuse, throwing myself back into that empty promise. Despite it all, I hadn’t learned. I still couldn’t take you back even though everything in me _begged_ me to. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Maybe it was because I took pleasure in that hollow feeling. Maybe I liked making myself miserable. Because that was what nonconformist was. Misery and death. That’s goth. But what’s so fun about being goth if I waste my life regretting a mistake I keep making? Kenny, I’m so sorry.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as I keep on bawling in that heart-wrenching way. As I  cry, his hands roam my body, and I pretend he’s gluing me back together. He uses the hem of his shirt to dry my face. I open my eyes up at him. I can feel my lashes clumped together with tears.

He kisses my forehead.

“I never considered that you wanted us back as much as I did, or more than me. I started to think you’d broken up with me because you were tired of me. I didn’t know you were holding back,” he whispers.

My laugh is watery. “I wouldn’t want you to think I was holding back. I wanted to appear unfeeling,” I say.

“We’re all human in the end,” he says.

This time I laugh properly, squeezing my eyes shut and smiling. I reach up and kiss him. He tastes like redemption. I pull back, and I can’t stop myself from smiling. I kiss him over and over, all over his face until he’s laughing. He holds me close.

“You know, no matter what you say or what you do, I’ll love you no matter the circumstance. I even loved the way you broke my heart,” he says.

I wrap my arms around his middle. He smells like cheap cologne and spearmint gum, just the way he smelled when we were sixteen. The only difference is that there isn’t a trace of cigarette smoke on him, and I find it oddly comforting.

I murmur against his skin, “ ‘We loved with a love that was more than love.’ ”

“ ‘Annabel Lee,’ Edgar Allan Poe, 1849?” he says.

I find myself tearing up again as I laugh. My heart feels heavy. “Yeah. That’s exactly it.”

Kenny asks, “What’s wrong? Why are you crying again?”

I run my fingers through his hair. “Because no one else would’ve understood that. And you did. And I just—I love you, Kenny.”

He smiles, and slowly, that light returns to his eyes. “I love you too, princess. Now c’mere and give daddy a proper kiss.”

I can’t stop laughing. I bring myself into his lap, my arms on his shoulders and my hands in his hair. I kiss him deeply.

One of my favorite things about his tongue piercing is the sound of it clicking against my teeth. It reminds me that this is real, and it’s evidence of how far he’ll go for me. He got it in sophomore year, nine months before we got together. It was another one of his attempts to impress me, since I have various piercings of my own. Like all his other previous attempts, getting his tongue pierced worked.

When Michael, Pete, and Firkle walk in, Kenny’s laying down on my bed, his tongue still shoved down my throat. I’m on top of him. He’s holding my thigh to his side. Firkle clears his throat to get our attention.

We look up. My friends are staring pointedly at us.

“May I help you?” I ask sarcastically.

Michael puts his hands in his pockets. “No, we just wanted to make sure everything was fine. It went quiet for awhile. We thought that maybe you killed him, Henri,” he drawls.

I smirk, glancing down at Kenny. His eyes are halfway nervous, halfway smug. “I’d say she did,” he says.

I grin, leaning down to press my nose against his. His other hand finds it’s was up my bustier. He kisses me slowly.

“We’re going,” Pete says.

“Close the door on your way out,” I say.

I hear Pete almost laugh.

The door closes. I kiss Kenny hard. My hands are under his shirt, exploring his stomach. The door is opened again too soon. Firkle’s voice floats back into my room. “I’m telling Karen, by the way.”

The door shuts.

Kenny pulls back enough to look at me. His eyes are wide. I put my hands on his cheeks. “She’s going to find out eventually,” I remind him.

His lips frown, but then those lips are on mine. I lose myself in the movement of his kiss. How I’ve missed the soft caresses that accompany his affections.

Toying with his shark tooth necklace, I whisper, “Do you think you could read ‘Annabel Lee’ to me?”

He kisses the top of my head. “Anything for you, princess.”

Kenny leaves the bed to pick up the book by my closet. He joins me again, fitting himself right back where he was—between my arms, his cheek against my forehead, his left arm twined around my shoulders so his _Eternal_ tattoo is in clear view. He rubs his thumb against the same spot on my arm. Him touching the spot makes me long to have a tattoo dedicated to him there.

He flips to “Annabel Lee.” He reads the first line. I feel myself falling in love with the poem just as I first fell in love with Kenny.

His tone changes when he gets to the fifth stanza. Kenny puts his lips on mine, and he murmurs,

“ ‘And neither the angels in heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.’ ”


	13. Kenny McCormick

**College, sophomore year.**

Lately, I’ve been waking up with the present thought that I have a cross tattoo behind my left ear. When I go into the bathroom in the mornings, I check myself in the mirror. I never have a tattoo there. So when Henrietta hit me up three days ago asking to accompany her to get a tattoo, I accepted immediately.

As I leave, I tell my friends I’m gonna be out for a bit. They make noncommittal noises, too focused on their phones.

On the drive over, my fingers on the steering wheel drum to the beat of the radio. Once I park in front of the tattoo shop, I stare through the windshield at Henrietta. She’s on her phone, leaning against the wall. She runs her lip through her teeth and rolls her eyes at the screen.

I got my first tattoo here with her. I also got pierced here various times, and she was always with me. I guess we’re keeping up with that pattern.

I get out of the car, walking up to her. She looks up and extends her arms. I slide into them, kissing her lips. I still can’t believe that two months ago, we made everything right.

“How have you been, princess?” I ask her, speaking into her hair.

Her arms tighten around me. Her voice is muffled by my chest. “Better now that you’re here.”

We stare at each other, and I take her in. Her hair is done up messily. She has no makeup except for fake eyelashes. She’s wearing black jeans and black boots. She’s wearing a black oversized band T-shirt. It’s my shirt.

Smirking, I pull the hem towards me. “Nice shirt. Looks familiar, though.”

She smirks and says, “So are we just gonna stand here or go inside?”

I feel my face heating up. “Oh, uh. Right. Yeah, let’s go in.”

When she turns, I see the rip on the back of her upper thigh. I put my fist over my mouth, failing to not stare. I _do_ succeed in resisting to reach out and grab her ass, so I consider that an accomplishment.

Inside, the girl tattooing Henri asks me to write the word “evermore” on a piece of hectograph paper. I don’t question it aloud, but the way Henrietta fights a grin the whole time is suspicious. When I give the paper back to Missy, I ask her, “Why did I have to write that?”

Missy jerks her head at Henrietta. “Ask her.”

Henri fixes her gaze on me, narrowing her eyes and smiling. “I wanted the word ‘evermore’ in the crook of my left elbow.” She walks up to me, getting in my face. I smell her perfume. Her brown eyes move left to right as she looks into me. “In your handwriting.”

I blink, slowly processing the information. When it finally registers in my mind, I jolt back in shock. “In _my_ handwriting?” I repeat.

She nods, taking my left arm and running her thumb over my tattoo. It says _Eternal_ in her handwriting. I got it in senior year.

“Just like this,” she says.

All my dumbass thinks to say is, “Oh.”

We’re seated next to each other, close enough that we can hold hands. I interlock our fingers. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” I tell her.

She shrugs. “I thought it was appropriate. You know, since we’re back together and all.”

I break eye contact, unable to stop grinning. I hardly feel any pain at all as I’m being tattooed. Henri’s getting a tattoo similar to mine. I feel honored.

“What’s the exact definition of ‘evermore’ and ‘eternal’?” I ask.

Reading off her phone, Henri says, “The definition for evermore is ‘always,’ though it’s mostly used rhetorically or ‘in ecclesiastical contexts.’ And eternal means ‘lasting or existing forever; without end or beginning.’ ”

“You purposely chose a word similar to eternal so you could have it tattooed on the same spot of your arm as mine! You love me!” I exclaim.

The guy tattooing me tells me to stop moving.

“My bad,” I say.

Henrietta rolls her eyes. She’s smiling. “Yeah, I thought all that was pretty obvious from the beginning, dumbass.”

I squeeze her hand.

She finishes before me, but she doesn’t let go of my hand. She watches me get tattooed, running her fingers over my cheek. She lifts her arm and shows me her tattoo. “How does it look?”

It’s really there. It really says _Evermore_ right there in the crook of her elbow. The black ink is stark against her pale skin. It looks like I could’ve written it in Sharpie.

I say, “You’re crazy.”

She laughs, putting my knuckles to her lips. “That’s what I said when you got your tattoo, remember?”

“No?” I say.

She laughs again, and all her walls fall. She would hate it if I told her she’s shining right now, looking into me as I look into her.

We pay for our tattoos once my tattoo is finished.

We go to my car. I sit on the hood, and she stands between my legs. She puts her hands on either side of me, her nose brushing mine. She says, “Do you think you could drive me home? Michael dropped me off.”

“Yeah, of course.” I nuzzle my nose against hers. Her septum piercing touches my skin. “You bought me this car, after all.”

She smiles, showing off her straight white teeth. Her hands run up my thighs, my chest, and they still on my shoulders. Henrietta parts my lips with her tongue. Time becomes irrelevant. It’s not until Missy comes out and tells us to go away and make out in some other parking lot do we get into my car.

On the road, I tell Henrietta, “So I got tickets for us for the Denver Zoo. They’re for today, so you don’t really have a choice to not go.”

She scoffs playfully. “I have nothing to do anyway, so you’re in luck.”

Even if she’s only reapplying lip gloss and tucking her hair behind her ears, it has me falling in love with her more than I already am.

At the zoo, the first thing she has us see are the reptiles.

“You’re such a fake, you know?” I say. We’re at the snake exhibit.

She looks at me. “What do you mean?” Her eyes gleam the way they do when she already knows what I mean.

“I _mean,”_ I say, wrapping my arm around the small of her back, “that you’re afraid of snakes, and you’re trying to play it off like you’re not.”

She smooths out the wrinkles in my shirt. “How so?”

“You’re standing here like you didn’t run away shrieking when we were at the pet store and they let me hold a snake,” I say.

“You caught me off guard.”

“Oh  _ sure.  _ Not to mention the Medusa tattoo on your thigh.”

She presses up on her tiptoes and kisses me.

There are no hyenas in sight by the time we make it over. Henrietta has her hand above her eyes so she can attempt a glance at them through the setting sunlight. The families around us are taking pictures even though there’s nothing to take a picture of. I’m surprised it’s as busy as it is on a Saturday in September. One dad comes up to us and asks Henri if she can take a picture of him and his family.

She says, “Sure,” but it comes out mumbled and awkward.

I struggle to hold in laughter. It comes burbling out when she glares at me as she follows the dad to his family. He has two girls. Both of them can’t be more than eight. A little boy is sitting in a stroller the wife has.

When the dad thanks Henri and asks if we’d like a picture, I say, “Yeah, sure,” before Henrietta can say otherwise.

We stand against the glass railing. I put my arms around her shoulders. She puts one hand around my waist, the other on my stomach. We smile at my phone camera. The dad takes a couple pictures, then hands me back my phone. I thank him. He goes back to his family. They walk off as a group. The girls are clinging to their dad as he has his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

Henrietta looks through the pictures, squinting at my screen. “I look awkward in this first one,” she says.

“We should get married.”

She looks up at me, startled. “Are you serious?” she says.

“Dead serious,” I say, and I mean it.

She purses her lips. She taps the ring on her middle finger against the back of my phone. Henrietta’s worn rings since middle school. She has at least one ring on each finger. They’re all thin gold bands. Some of the rings are near her nail, others are above where her finger bends.

She blinks at me once. Then she says, “All right. Let’s get married.”

For a moment, I’m surprised. She didn’t even try to question it. The surprise quickly passes. It’s replaced by this bouncing-around excitement in my chest.

I hear myself take in a breath. “You’re not gonna ask why I wanna marry you even though we’ve been back together for only two months?” I ask.

She shrugs, leaning against the railing. “Okay, tell me.”

I put my hands on her shoulders, playing with her hair. “We’d been together for almost two years before we broke up. I’d known I’d never fall in love with any other girl once we started talking in freshman year. Our breakup was one of the worst things I’ve had to go through, and that’s saying a lot. Now that I have you, I don’t want you to leave me so easily if that ever comes up again, which I hope it doesn’t. So I propose marriage, because that’s harder to get out of.” I smile at her.

Henrietta covers her mouth with her hand as she laughs. “Good point. I agree with everything you said.”

I take her hand. “I’m buying the ring though. I’m not letting you pay for that,” I say.

She stands straight. She walks closer to me until our chests bump. “Wasn’t planning on it.” She uses her free hand to bring my head down to hers so she can kiss me.

We end up at the nearest jewelers, looking through the display cases at the necklaces. The woman behind the counter asks if we need any help.

“We’re looking for engagement rings,” I tell her.

We end up in an office room where some other person is sitting behind a desk. He asks what kind of ring Henrietta would like. When she starts describing what she wants, I’m impressed. When she pulls out her phone to show the guy an example, I’m taken aback.

The guy is talking about diamond cuts or whatever, but I cut him off. “Sorry, Henri, you already _know?”_ I ask.

She bites her lip, looking sheepish. “Girls usually have an idea of what ring they want before some are even _in_ relationships,” she says.

“Oh,” I say. I smirk at her. “When did you start getting an idea of the type of ring you wanted?”

She tilts her nose up a little. “Sophomore year, or something. Maybe. I don’t remember exactly,” she says defensively.

I laugh, kissing her face. “Yeah, definitely _not_ a coincidence.”

Henrietta wants her ring to have a round black diamond in the center of a gold band. She wants smaller white diamonds on either side of the bigger diamond. As her and the guy keep talking, I take Henri’s hands in mine. She twists around one of the gold bands on her ring finger. “It’ll replace this one,” she tells me.

I look up and smile at her. “Holy fuck, princess. You’re gonna be my wife. And it’s good too because you’re my dream girl.”

At first, she looks skeptical.

“I’m not even kidding,” I tell her.

She smiles and rolls her eyes. She grazes the tip of her black nail against my chin. She kisses me, and I’m on a high.

At the apartment, the first thing I announce when Henrietta and I walk in is, “Hey, guys. We’re married.”

My friends look away from the video game they’re playing. They’re in the same positions as when I left at nine this morning. They look at us. They talk at the same time.

“You were gone for eleven hours.”

“Aww, I wasn’t invited?”

“Dude.”

“I don’t see a ring.”

Leo whacks Cartman on the stomach. Cartman smirks, bringing Leo down to his chest.

I move to sit next to Stan and Kyle on the couch in front of the balcony. Henri sits in my lap. “Okay, I admit, we’re not _married._ We’re engaged,” I say.

Cartman says, “I still don’t see a ring.”

“Cut that out, Eric,” Leo scolds lightly.

Cartman kisses Leo on the mouth, and Leo blushes. I see how his eyes dart to me for a split second. I remember what he told me on my birthday, about how he feels weird kissing Cartman around me. I remember what I’d told him then, but I felt like I knew where he was coming from, deep down. I still don’t understand why I felt that though, and why I still do.

“When’s the wedding then?” Stan asks.

“We just got engaged. We don’t have a date yet,” I say.

Kyle faces his palm to the ceiling to express his exasperation. It fails when Stan puts his hand in Kyle’s. Kyle’s fingers curl around Stan’s. They definitely aren’t like Cartman and Leo who felt the need to hide their relationship. Kyle says, “You did it spontaneously, didn’t you? There’s no way you planned a proposal without having the ring before proposing.”

“You got me,” I say, my voice dry.

Kyle grins and runs his tongue over his teeth.

Henri says, “And no one is surprised that out of all you dickheads, Kenny’s the first to get engaged?”

Kyle and Stan trade a look. They look at me. Stan says, “To be honest, yeah. I’m surprised.”

Cartman doesn’t look up from his phone and doesn’t stop running his fingers through Leo’s hair, but he says, “Yeah. I was always under the impression that Kenny was afraid of that kind of commitment.” 

Leo slides his hand up Cartman’s shirt. He says, “C’mon, fellas. Kenny’s always been ahead of us when it came to romance and stuff. I’m not that surprised he’s the first to get engaged.”

I smile at Leo. “Thanks for thinking I actually value relationships, Leo.” I speak through my teeth, my voice sharp, “Unlike these _other_ idiots.”

The corner of Leo’s mouth shoots up. He makes a clicking sound with his mouth as he winks at me.

I wrap my arms around Henri. “You’re my fiance now.” I kiss her neck.

“You got that right.” She pauses. “We have to clean our tattoos.”


	14. Eric Cartman

**College, junior year.**

I stand in the corner of our room, watching the steady rise and fall of Butters’ shoulders as he sleeps. It’s four in the morning, and I can’t sleep so soundly like he can. He has his arm limp across my side of the bed. His fingers are curled, and they twitch. He rolls onto his side, his back facing me. I hear him sigh as he settles.

I push off the wall, pacing the length of the room silently. I count my steps in my head. My mouth forms the shape of the numbers. The room is so quiet, and all I hear is my heartbeat drowning out Butters’ breathing.

Haunting thoughts this early in the morning come to me when I’m in a state between waking and sleeping. The thoughts become so loud it’s impossible to fall back asleep. I end up staying up for hours, thinking.

I run my hands through my hair.

More often than I’d like, I feel like that ten-year-old brat who sat in his room alone with his demons and insecurities. I feel like that now.

I can see them clouding the corners of my vision, dark and gray with nothing but sharp teeth and whispers that hiss through my ears like poison.

I glance at Butters in bed, fast asleep.

It would be so easy for him to leave me.

He could have anybody else in the world. He could have anyone who isn’t as twisted as I am.

So why does he stay? Why does he bother putting up with me every day for years on end?

My eyes drift back to him.

It seems nobody else knows me for who I really am, but he knows me down to my core. He had to go through so much trouble just to get there. Nobody else bothered with the mess.

So why did he?

Why would he stay when it could be so easy to leave?

When we were young, I found it suspicious how he didn’t immediately see flaw in me like everyone else did. He stayed when everyone else turned their back on me. He refused to abandon me, even if he’d seen my brunt cruelty for himself. I couldn’t understand what he saw that everyone else and _I_ couldn’t see.

I halt my pacing. I stand in the middle of the room, facing the window. The blinds are left open. The moon is a blurry half circle, shining dimly through the clouds.

I haven’t seen Cupid Me in ten years. It disappeared around the time I started spending all my time with Butters.

I watch it stare at me from the other side of the window. It’s not what it used to be. It’s still small and round as it was, but its eyes have gone black all the way around. Tracks of deep red leak down its cheeks. Its grin is too wide for its small face, and all of its teeth are sharp.

I hear its voice in my head, scratchy and raw with disuse. _Haven’t you wondered where I’ve been? Haven’t you_ missed _me?_

I think, Not at all. Not in the slightest.

 _Shame,_ it says. _How was life without me? I decided to cut you a break for a while. Well, break’s over._

I narrow my eyes at Cupid Me.

Its grin grows wider, taking up all its face. _What? You think you can glare me out of existence? I’m here to stay, Eric._

Go away, little demon.

Cupid Me laughs. _Demon? I’m an angel, can’t you see?_

Not an angel. A demon wearing false angel wings.

It frowns. It shoots forward, passing through the window, hovering right above Butter’s head. I feel my heart pick up speed in my chest.

Cupid Me pulls back arrow at Butters. Its words are grating. _You’ve had your fun. You’ve always known he was too good for you. It’s time for goodbyes. Say goodbye, Eric._

I’m immobile, speechless.

Butters is the reason we’ve been together this long. If it weren’t for him, he would’ve slipped through my fingers a long time ago.

I find myself backed against the corner again. I sink to the floor, pulling my legs up to my chest. My breathing is shallow. My vision is blurred and wet.

Cupid Me laughs.

I scowl at it. I whisper, “Shoot the arrow, then.”

I see how Cupid Me freezes in shock. It wasn’t expecting that response. It falters a bit, repositioning the bow. It draws back the arrow, its shoulders relaxing. Right as it looks like its about to release the arrow, it lifts the bow and releases the arrow at me.

It sails through the air, set for right between my eyes. Only, when it gets close, it disintegrates into dust. Cupid Me and I glance to the bed. Butters makes a noise in his sleep. He mumbles drowsily as he dreams, and I hear it: “Eric.”

He’s dreaming of me.

My heart stops beating. The world stops spinning. Time stops moving.

Even Cupid Me stops. It looks down at Butters as if really seeing him for the first time. The hostile look on its face softens.

 _He really is too good for you,_ it says. _And you don’t deserve someone like him._

So what if that’s true? Butters is too good for me. Anyone is. And I don’t deserve anyone’s love, especially Butters’.

I was so cruel to him growing up, but not even that made him abandon me. Everyone, even myself, sees right through me, but he sees through me differently. He doesn’t see through me like a ghost. He sees through my lies and sees the truth buried beneath.

I bite my lip.

Butters stays because he wants to, not because he feels obligated to. Somehow, he found a way to see past my flaws. He sees me and every dark side, and he still loves me.

Cupid Me is gone. I move to Butters’ side of the bed and sit down on the floor. His eyes move beneath his eyelids. The corners of his lips lift as he smiles in his sleep. A giggle leaves him. He makes a humming sound at the back of his throat. His hand is next to his head. I slide my fingers between his. He doesn’t wake. He’s always been a deep sleeper. I lean in close, being gentle as I kiss his lips.

I stand up, going into the closet. I change quickly, putting on jeans and a hoodie. I put on socks and shove my feet into my shoes. In the room in the dark, I take my car keys, my wallet, and my phone from the desk. I find my hat hanging from the lamp. I pull it over my hair. I quietly drag open the drawer on the side of the desk, taking my glasses from its case and sliding it over my nose. I put up my hood. I cross the room to close the blinds. Then I open the door to our room, stepping out, and closing it with a soft click behind me.

The living room and the kitchen are still. I read the time in green on the oven. 4:59 a.m. No sound comes from Stan and Kyle’s rooms. Everyone is sleeping.

I don’t make a sound as I leave the apartment.


	15. Butters Stotch

**College, junior year.**

Before I’ve even completely woken, I reach for Eric’s side of the bed. My hand falls through thin air, landing on the cool bed sheets. I bolt upright. Eric’s side’s empty, and it’s cold. He hasn’t been here a while. I look around the room. Everything seems untouched. The blinds are closed. So’s the closet and the door. I grab for my phone on the bedside table. It’s nine o’clock. It’s Saturday today. I’ve got one text in one paragraph from Eric, sent at eight thirty. He never gets up that early on weekends. I open the message and read through it.

**ur probably wondering where i am and ur probably wondering y the fuck i woke up so early on a saturday**

I smile at that. He’s spot on.

**i cant explain it to u bc ur gonna have to figure it out urself. it starts with this https://youtu.be/KFof8aaUvGY its a clue. figure it out correctly and ull eventually get to where i am. think of this as a scavenger hunt. good luck bbutts**

I press on the link. It leads me to the lyric video of “Eastside.” As I listen to the song, I’m reminded of the first time I heard it. I fall back to my pillows, watching the words dance across the screen. The first time I heard the song, it was midnight. I was seventeen, Eric was sixteen. I was at Eric’s, and we crept into the kitchen for a midnight snack. He danced me around the kitchen with nothing but the fridge lighting up our way. He was singing a song I’d never heard before. The next morning, I’d asked what the song was. He told me and had me watch the music video. I fell in love with the song.

When Eric sang it, I was listening to the words, but when I watched the video, I was listening to the beat. I found the same lyric video I’m watching right now so I could read the words to the song. As I read along, I realized how much it had to do with me and Eric. When I’d told Eric the parallels, he agreed.

Listening to it now, a memory so vivid comes back to me. The lyrics of the song seem to fade away as the memory replaces it. It plays out before me on my screen like a music video.

I was fifteen. It was a summer Sunday. I remember staring out at the green leaves of the trees rustling in the wind through my bedroom window. I remember my hazy reflection on the glass, my chin in my palm, my mouth frowning. I was grounded. For what, I can’t remember, but I remember the burning feeling of anger at the reason. Most likely, it had something to do with Eric.

I’d waited until my parents were having dinner downstairs. The sun was beginning to set then. I’d escaped my room with the help of the lock pick set Eric had gotten me, and Eric’s previous instructions on how to pick a lock. I’d gone into my parents room. I rummaged through their dresser, finding my phone under my dad’s shirts. I’d texted Eric to meet me there. I didn’t specify where, but I knew he’d know what it meant. I’d put my phone back, making sure it was as I’d found it. I’d gone back into my room, making sure I’d locked the door from the outside. Then I snuck out my window.

Along with lock picking, Eric had taught me the right and safe way to get from my bedroom window to the ground. Lift the window facing the garage, shuffle your way onto the windowsill, drop down to the roof of the garage, jump to the ground, and make sure to bend your knees to absorb the shock of the fall. When I’d touched my feet to the ground, I went into the garage and grabbed my bike.

I biked east to where the U-Stor-It was. It was mine and Eric’s secret meeting place. By the time I got to Professor Chaos’s lair, I was out of breath. I dropped my bike next to Eric’s and went into the storage unit. Eric was in there, sitting in one of the chairs. When he heard me come in, his eyes met mine. I remember how his eyes seemed to glow in the semidarkness. Two different colors, one face. We moved at the same time. He got up and I ran towards him. We met in the middle. He hugged me tight.

We ended up on the roof. We watched the sunset westward. I had my head on his shoulder, listening intently as he suggested we run away. Run away from my parents, from school, from our friends, from it all. We could do it right then. Together, we could do anything.

I don’t remember how I talked him out of it. His voice matching his face was determined, and it’s hard to talk Eric out of anything when he’s determined. I managed to do it somehow, and by the time the stars were sparkling and blocked out by gray clouds, he walked me home. I stood on my doorstep, him on the concrete walkway. Standing like that, I was two inches taller than him, but it didn’t matter as we stood only centimeters apart. He’d murmured that we could still run away if I wanted. I’d smiled and told him I was sure. I’d kissed him goodnight. To this day, I can still feel the breath of his parting words on my lips when he whispered, “If you wanna run away, you know where to find me. I’ll meet you there.”

My parents never found out where I’d been that night.

Now, twenty-one in my junior year of college, the song ends. A suggested song pops up, but I close the app. I sit up, changing into a T-shirt and jeans. I grab my jacket at the foot of the bed. So he wants to meet me at the U-Stor-It—on the east side of South Park.

I pocket my phone and my wallet. I brush my teeth and wash my face. I frown at a small pimple on my nose. I never had much acne growing up, but a few would still come to haunt me. I’m usually good with washing my face. Hopefully this thing’ll be gone by tomorrow. Eric used to have bad acne, but when we got together, I got him to start using my cleanser. Now he has one of his own, and he hardly has any acne.

In the living room, Kyle and Stan are up playing video games with their arms around each other. They’re sharing a fuzzy blanket.

 I put a bagel in the toaster. “Have either of you heard from Eric at all?” I ask.

Without taking his eyes off the TV, Kyle says, “We thought he was you.”

“Yeah,” Stan adds. He glances at me. “Doesn’t he share a room with you?”

I scrunch up my nose. “I haven’t seen him all mornin’. He sent me a text, but he didn’t specify his location. He just sent me a YouTube link.”

“Oh,” Stan says.

Kyle says, “Well we haven’t seen him either.”

I pout. “I wonder where he went.”

“Work, maybe?” Kyle suggests.

Eric started his own company sometime last year. It’s been doing real well, but he doesn’t work weekends. “He couldn’t be,” I say. Why would he send me that kinda text if he was only at work?

When my bagel pops up, I quickly smear cream cheese over it. I grab a napkin, a water bottle, and the keys to my car. As I open the door, I say to Stan and Kyle, “I’ll be back soon. Hopefully with Eric.”

“Yup,” Stan says. He starts laughing, getting in Kyle’s face. “Haha! Beat you, bitch!”

Kyle rolls his eyes and shuts Stan up with a kiss.

I lock the door behind me. I get into my car, turning off the AC. I stuff my bagel in my mouth as I back out. On the drive over, I can’t help but wonder why Eric’s doing all this. It’s random, not to mention unlike him. Or, maybe in some way, it is like him. He’s always been one to string stuff out.

At the U-Stor-It, I use the key I still have to open the unit. It’s more empty than it used to be. Dougie’s grandma sold most of the stuff she kept in here a few years ago. She told Dougie that if me and him were still using it, we could have it. Dougie and I don’t play supervillains anymore, so half of the unit’s empty space.

I walk around, checking to see if something’s outta place. Once I’ve made it around, I realize everything’s as it was.

I bite my lip. If this is a scavenger hunt and that song was my hint, then I should be right on track.

My eyes wander to the wall opposite the entrance. The wall used to be the Mysterion wall. When Eric and I were either fifteen or sixteen, we took it down and turned it into a wall of pictures of us.

I smack my palm to my forehead. “Butters, you idiot,” I say aloud.

Eric and I spent the first few years of our relationship here at the U-Stor-It, but we didn’t spend them _inside._ We spent them up on the roof.

I go up onto the roof. Right in the center’s a Converse shoe box. I go to it, sitting down next to it and setting it in my lap. Inside’s a folded up piece of notebook paper. Under that’s a few photos. Before even checking the paper, I take out the photos. I laugh as I recognize them. When Eric and I were sixteen, we went to Photo Dojo together so he could print them. He wanted five printed. All five are here, just out of order.

Two of the pictures are of us kissing. In the first one, I’m kissing his cheek. In the other, we’re kissing each other on the mouth in my bedroom. We were fifteen in both.

The third picture’s a candid of us on his couch. We look sixteen in it.

The fourth photo’s of me making a face. I’m sticking my tongue out at the camera. My nose is wrinkled and my eyes are closed. I flip the photo over to see that Eric wrote the dates they were taken on the back. I was fourteen in this one.

I remember the fifth photo distinctly. It’s of me laying under Eric. It’s mostly the top half of my face, but you can tell what I was doing when the picture was taken. I’d no idea he took the picture of me until he printed them out that day and showed me.

I unfold the paper. In his handwriting, he wrote, _Do you remember when I said “Did I need to bring a USB or something to print these pictures? Because I did anyway.” Well, you say it now._

That’s what Eric said when we walked into Photo Dojo that day. I didn’t know that he had a picture of me blowing him on that USB. I’d never been more embarrassed, but Eric only assured me those people who worked at Photo Dojo had likely seen worse. He said that if it really bothered me so much, we could always run away.

To this day, I still hope the folks working at Photo Dojo have seen worse than a sixteen-year-old boy giving head to another boy.

These five pictures were the first ever Eric printed of us. He told me that he wanted to print them because he wanted something to hold. He didn’t wanna look at a set of pixels on a phone screen. It wasn’t the same.

Ever since that day, Eric and I’d go regularly to Photo Dojo to print pictures and paste them up on what used to be the Mysterion wall.

I go back into the storage unit, standing in front of the wall. I can see the empty spots where the five pictures used to be. I pin them back up, admiring how good the wall looks. There are at least a hundred pictures of me and him. Some pictures are blurry and candid, some artsy and professional looking.

The very last picture we added to the wall was of me and him in our graduation gowns. We put it up right next to our preschool graduation picture.

Looking between the two, I can hardly believe how far we’ve come. From preschool friends grinning at a camera to lovers on their way to college.

I leave the U-Stor-It and get back into my car. I reread Eric’s note. If he wants me to say what he said the first day we went to Photo Dojo together, then he must want me to go there.

I’m the only one at Photo Dojo when I walk in. I debate wandering around looking at the sample pictures they have on the wall, but I decide against it. I go straight up to the counter instead.

I fidget before saying, “Did I need to bring a USB or somethin’ to print these pictures? ‘Cause I did anyway.”

The man’s face screws up in confusion. He looks at a note near his desktop, and his face clears. He nods. “Oh yeah, I was told about this. Hang on.” He crouches down. When he comes back up, he has a key in his hand. “You’re Butters, right?” he asks.

“That’s me,” I say.

He nods again and slides the key to me.

I take it. It’s a brass key, and a small plastic tag hangs off it. It has the number eighteen on it. It’s Liane’s key to her mailbox at the post office.

To the man behind the counter, I ask, “Do you happen to know what I’m s’posed to do with this?”

He shrugs. “Nope, sorry. I was only instructed to give it to Butters when he asked that certain question you asked.”

I turn the key over in my hand, taking in its familiarity. “Okay. Thanks anyway.”

I walk to the post office. It’s only a few buildings from Photo Dojo, and I don’t feel like losing my parking spot.

I find Liane’s mailbox and use the key to open it. The last time Eric and I were here, we were seventeen, and we’d finally decided to run away, and we stopped by here so he could get something. It turned out that he hid his handgun in Liane’s mailbox since she never used it and he had the spare key.

This time, I don’t find a handgun. I find a folded map. There’s a Post-it note on it. Eric wrote, _This is where I got lazy._

I lock up the mailbox and walk back to my car. There, I unfold the map. It’s of South Park. In black Sharpie, there’s a drawn line. At one end, the post office is starred and says _You are here._ The other end leads to the outskirts of town, and a spot near the river’s circled.

I put the map in the passenger seat and start the car. I follow the map as far as I can go in a car, which isn’t far. I walk alone down a dirt trail with nothing but my phone in my pocket and the map in my hand. The trees cast shadows around me. Birds unseen chirp their songs. I breathe in the crisp October mountain air, feeling like I’ve been without it for longer than I really have.

The first and last time I went down this path, I was with Eric. We went here after going to the post office. It was late at night, and we ran down this path through the dark.

I walk down the path. I take in the sights around me. When Eric and I were here, we couldn’t see much around us. Being here now’s like walking through that memory alone in the daylight.

I hear the river before I see it. When I pass the trees blocking the view of the stone bridge, I see Eric sitting there on the ledge, his legs dangling over. He’s in gray sweatpants and a red hoodie. He has his hat on. His left shoe’s untied. He looks up from the river when he hears me coming.

I walk up to him. I fold up the map and stuff it into the pocket of my jacket. I hop up to sit beside him. I throw my legs over the edge like him. “Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” he says. He says it quietly. He has dark circles under his eyes.

I take his chin and turn his face towards me. “You look tired,” I observe.

He shrugs. “I am.”

I rub his cheek with my thumb as we sit in silence. His skin’s cold and pink. He’s been out here for awhile now. I can tell. He takes the map from my pocket and unfolds it.

He stares at it as he says, “I’m glad you figured it out. I did it at six in the morning, so it’s not super complex and thought out.”

I move my hand from his cheek to his hand. I lace our fingers. “What was all this for, Eric?” I ask.

With one hand, he folds the map up again, putting it back in my pocket. He deflects my question with a question of his own. “Do you remember the memories we made at every one of those locations I made you go through?”

“Course I do.”

He looks at me. I can tell he’s nervous by the quick dart of his eyes. “Did you notice anything in common about those memories?” he asks.

“Aside that we love each other in all of ‘em?” I say. “No.”

He squeezes my hand, releases his grip, and squeezes again. He does it over and over. “In each of those memories, I suggested we run away,” he says.

My eyes widen. “Ohh. That makes sense. Huh, I didn’t notice that.”

He gestures to the bridge and the river. “We came here when we finally decided to run away. We sat here for at least two hours, wondering where we’d run off to. I remember seeing the stars through the trees.” He looks up like he expects the stars to be there the way they were that night. They’re not though. It’s just the cloudy blue sky.

I say, “I remember how after those hours passed, we got all homesick and decided to go back. We went to our own beds and woke up the next mornin’ with nobody knowin’ nothin’ about the night before.”

Eric nods, starting to smile. His voice is soft when he speaks, “I remember we sat just like this—on the edge of this bridge with the river under our feet. That was the night I felt like you and me were the only ones on Earth. I asked if I could hold your hand, and you said if I wanted to, and I held it the whole night. It reminded me of preschool, when we were both so intimidated by the new shit around us, and somehow we found comfort in each other. That’s how we became friends, remember? But as we held hands that night on this bridge, we talked about how we’d go somewhere no one would find us. We’d buy a house. We’d start over. We’d change our names.” He laughs. His voice gets thick. He brushes his knuckles over my cheek and puts his thumb under my chin. “You said you’d take my last name, and I said that it sounded fucked up—you know, Butters Cartman—and either way, you couldn’t do that because that would give us away. I remember how you said that yeah, it sounded fucked up, but you and me are fucked up, and that made it perfect. And you said that I wouldn’t want your last name anyway, since I’d be sharing it with your parents. And I said that I already share _you_ with your parents, and it wouldn’t make a difference.” He pauses. His eyes get foggy. He looks deep into my eyes, someplace far away. “But you said that as soon as they stopped caring for you, you were all mine.”

With my free hand, I curl my fingers around his wrist. I try to find the place he sees in my eyes in his. I take in a breath, wetting my lips. My words seem too loud when they leave my mouth, though they can’t be above a whisper. “Eric… what’s this all about?”


	16. Eric Cartman

**College, junior year.**

My hands shake in Butters’ hands. My palms are sweaty. My mouth is dry. Even though the wind is cool, I feel burning hot in my ears, my face, my chest. Butters’ eyes are so blue and so wide.

I run my lip through my teeth. I open my mouth, and for a moment, there’s silence. And then I spit it out, “How would you feel if we got married?”

Butters tilts his head, thoughtful. He smiles and says, “I’d like that very much.”

My breath is stolen. My heart feels like it’s trying to wriggle out of my chest to leap up and down. I swallow thickly. “Really?”

His face falls to gaping disbelief. He exclaims, “Course! I love you, Eric.”

I stuff my hands in my pockets. My finger grazes something cool. I look everywhere but Butters. I say, “So then I guess this is yours now.”

I take his hand. For a moment, all I can do is panic as I stare at the fingers of his left hand. The ring in my other hand is warming under my touch. I urge myself to get it over with. I push the ring onto his index finger.

My thoughts come sluggishly. When they finally catch up with me, my heart stops. The ring is on the wrong finger. I feel my face heat in embarrassment.

Butters is frozen as he stares at the gold band on his pointer finger. He looks up at me, down at the ring, up at me. Then he throws his arms around me, a sob coming from his throat. “Oh, Eric. Of course I’ll marry you.”

I hug him back, burying my face in his shoulder. My words are muffled, “I know. You said that already.”

He pulls back a little. His brows furrow. “I—I did?”

I roll my eyes to cover up my embarrassment. I’m feeling a million things altogether. “Yeah, dumbass. I asked how you would feel if we got married and you said you’d like that very much,” I remind him.

I watch as realization dawns on him. He beams, “Ooh. Smooth, Eric. Very smooth.”

I stare down at his hand, skimming my thumb over the gold band. “I put it on the wrong goddamn finger,” I deadpan.

He puts the hand with the ring over my heart. I look up at him. Surveying the ring, he says, “I dunno. I like it better like this. It looks cooler.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, skeptical. “I know you’re just trying to salvage my dignity,” I tell him. The corner of my mouth quirks up. “And I love you for it.”

He beams. His eyes are swimming with tears. He sniffles loudly. “I think I might cry.”

I wince, putting my hands on his hips. “Don’t. ‘Cause then I’ll cry, and I’m not about that life.”

Butters throws his head back and laughs. “So _that_ was the point of the whole scavenger hunt thing, huh?” he asks.

I smile sheepishly. “Yeah.”

Butters puts his head on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him. He nuzzles his nose into my neck. “I love you. I think you know that though.”

I laugh. “Yeah. I do.”

We both admire the ring. It’s plain gold, not even a centimeter thick. I tell him, “I know a guy, and he got it made in a few hours. On the inside, it says ‘steadfast’.” I shrug when Butters looks at me. “The word popped up into my head when I was walking to the shop. I feel like it fits us pretty well.”

Butters smiles. He kisses me softly, but it lingers. When he pulls back, he says, “Should we tell your parents? Since we’re in town?”

I consider it. “Yeah. We should,” I decide.

We go back to his car. We bop along to the song playing on the radio during the short drive with the windows down. I’m driving, and whenever we pass someone walking down the street, Butters sticks his head out the window and shouts, “Hey! I’m engaged!”

Before arriving at my parents’ house, I send them a text so they know we’re coming over. I park in the driveway, holding Butters’ hand up to the door. I knock, and Mom answers. She greets us with kisses to our foreheads.

“Hello, boys,” she says.

“Hey, Mom,” I say.

She takes us into the kitchen. It smells so good that my mouth waters. I skipped breakfast to plan the proposal and get the ring. “Have you both had lunch? I made lasagna, so might as well have some,” she says.

Butters and I sit next to each other at the table, trading a knowing glance.

“Where’s Dad?” I ask. I try to keep my voice innocent.

Mom sets plates and utensils in front of us. “Upstairs.”

“Okay.”

Mom turns around to get the glass pan on the counter. Butters jabs me in the side, giving me a pointed look. I lift my eyebrows at him, silently telling him I know what I’m doing. We’ve been doing this routine for seven years. He should know by now that I always do what I say. Most of the time, anyway.

Mom puts the pan in the center of the table. She cuts us pieces, putting it on our plates. She sits opposite us. “How have you boys been?” she asks.

“Good,” Butters says. His voice shakes. His eyes shoot to me.

Halfway through our lasagna, Dad walks in, rubbing his hands together. “I knew I smelled something good.”

He takes a plate, kisses Mom’s head, and gets a slice of lasagna for himself. He sits next to Mom. He looks between me and Butters. “What’d I miss?” he says.

I take a bite of my lasagna. Butters fidgets nervously next to me, his eyes constantly darting to me as silence pursues. Casually, I pick up his left hand, flashing the ring to them.

“I proposed,” I say.

Mom’s fork clatters on her plate when she drops it. Dad blinks rapidly. Beaming, they speak at once.

Mom gushes, “Oh, congratulations, you two! I’m so proud. My little boy’s engaged!” She reaches across the table and kisses my forehead.

Dad squeezes my shoulder and says, “Attaboy! I knew you’d do it.”

Mom waves a hand at Butters. “Let me see the ring.”

Butters laughs, cheeks coloring pink. “Oh it ain’t no diamond or nothin’,” he says. He extends his hand.

“Hardly matters,” Mom dismisses. She inspects the ring, smiling faintly. When she looks up at me, her eyes are misty. “I can’t believe I watched you two grow into the lovers you are today. It seems like only yesterday I would come home from work and catch you two kissing on the couch.”

I laugh. In freshman year after coming out, there were a few instances Butters and I would be making out on the couch after school, and Mom would walk in and catch us in the act.

Dad pats my shoulder across the table. His smile is as wide as Mom’s. He says, “I’m happy for you both. And I’m genuinely surprised you two got engaged before Clyde and Bebe.”

Butters starts laughing so hard he can’t stop. He rocks back and forth, his eyes watering. Then he starts completely sobbing. He pushes aside his plate and puts his head on the table with his arms around his face.

The three of us stare dumbfounded at him. His shoulders shake with sobs. His right hand reaches out and grabs mine. He lifts his head. He blinks at me through his tears as he smiles. “I love you,” he tells me.

I glance at my parents. “Um, excuse us,” I say.

I help Butters to his feet, leading him up to my room with my hand at the small of his back. He leans into me. He’s only sniffling now. He dries the tears on his face with his wrists.

Once I open the door to my room, I ask him, “Are you okay?”

He nods, swiping his arm across his nose. “I-I’m okay.”

He steps toward my dresser, touching the things on top of it. He goes to my desk and grazes his thumb over my Polaroid. At the window, he stares out at the houses across the street.

Right when I’m about to ask him what he’s doing, he says, “It’s been seven years since that September day.” He faces me. He sighs deeply as he starts to smile. “And now we’re engaged. We’re starting the next chapters of our lives.”

Butters goes to my closet, opening the doors and feeling the material of every hoodie left in there. I lay face down on my bed. I’ve missed my red pillowcases.

I roll onto my back and say, “Wanna know something?”

Butters is sitting on the floor, rummaging through the clutter at the bottom of my closet. I haven’t organized that thing since sixth grade.

“Yeah,” he says.

I take off my hat. “I never really planned on proposing.”

He laughs a little. “Well I never planned on you ever doin’ it. Or—no. I knew you’d do it one day, but not this soon.” He turns his head to me. His eyes are big and blue. “What made you decide to propose?”

I find myself saying nothing as I grin at him. I could talk with Butters forever. He knows the way I think, and he knows how to carry a conversation with me. He’s doing just that. “I couldn’t sleep last night. It was kinda weird. I was either really out of it or really in it because I was watching you sleep, and then I just had this feeling that I had to do it.”

“Like an epiphany?” Butters says.

I don’t know what the fuck that word means, but I say, “Exactly,” anyway.

He turns back to the closet, smiling. I hear more things being pushed around. I take my phone from my pocket to scroll through Instagram.

I’ve just liked some image from the explore page when Butters says, “Hey, look what I found.”

He’s holding up that old photo album with all of the pictures of the pranks I pulled on him in fourth grade.

I thought I’d gotten rid of that thing a long time ago.

There’s dread in my voice when I groan, “Oh _God.”_

He glances at the cover, then back at me. “Wanna burn it?” he asks.

I exhale in relief, covering my eyes with my hand. “Oh God, _yes.”_

We hurry downstairs, Butters clutching the photo album close to his chest. We pass Mom and Dad on the way to the backyard. As I’m rummaging through one of the drawers next to the stove, Mom says, “Hon, what are you doing?”

I find a box of matches, brandishing it to  Butters. He grins wildly. I glance at Mom. “No time to explain,” I say, pushing open the sliding glass doors.

I follow Butters out. He sets the album on a chair that’s surrounding the metal fire pit in the middle. I find the wood logs, tossing them into the pit. Butters is sitting in the chair next to the album. He goes through the pages, taking out each picture. I don’t see which pictures they are, but I cringe anyway. None of them are good.

I drizzle lighter fluid over the logs. I strike a match, tossing it in. Instantly, the fire pit erupts in tall orange flames. Butters stands with me at my shoulder. All the photos are in his hands, and I force myself to not look at them.

“Ready when you are,” I say.

His face is grim in the light. It casts him in a golden glow. He glances down at the photos, at the fire, at me. The corner of his lips lift. He takes a step closer to the pit. He tosses the photos into the flames. They flutter down, and they land on the logs. It takes a second, but then every picture curls at the edges, charring and burning towards the center.

I put my arm around Butters’ shoulders, pulling him to my side. He lays his head on my shoulder.

Aloud, he wonders, “Do you think we’re tryna cover up and forget our past by doin’ this?”

I shake my head. “No. We’re doing this to not let our past hold us back from our future.”

He smiles at me. I hook a finger under his chin, tilting his face up to mine. We kiss as the photos of our past turn to ash.

Eventually, Mom and Dad give up watching from the kitchen and join us outside.

“What was that all about?” Dad asks.

Butters glances at me, smiling cheekily. “We’re moving on from our past,” he says.

I smile at him.

Dad gives us a confused look. “Okay.”

Mom urges, “Come back inside and finish your lunch.”

We follow her into the house. We sit in our seats. Mom takes mine and Butters’ plates to reheat them. When she comes back and sets our plates in front of us, she smiles and says, “So explain how it happened.”

Butters and I share a look and a grin. I take a bite of my lasagna. I start, “I couldn’t sleep last night…”

After Butters and I finish our story and our lunch, we end up in Dougie’s grandma’s storage unit. Butters stands on a chair as he takes pictures down from the top of the wall. I remove the ones at the bottom. It was my idea to take down the wall of photos at the storage unit and put them into the old photo album.

The first couple pages are decorated with stickers and glitter. Butters and I sit on the floor of the unit with the photos and the album between us.

“We should put the pictures of us when we were younger here,” Butters says, meaning the decorated pages.

“Sure.”

It takes an hour, but eventually, every picture of us that was up on the wall sits safely in the photo album. We walk back to the car. Butters puts the photo album in the backseat.

“We should go to Super Phun Thyme to celebrate,” I say when I’m behind the wheel.

Butters turns to me, his eyes alight with a childlike sense of excitement. “Yes!”

I laugh, unable to keep it in. “All right, then.”

The first thing Butters gravitates to is the bounce house. He drags me by the hand, urging me along.

“But the bounce house is for little kids,” I protest.

Butters laughs, looking back at me. “That didn’t seem to matter when we were sixteen,” he points out.

I roll my eyes. We kick off our shoes and crawl into the bounce house.

The bounce house is the least interesting attraction at Super Phun Thyme, so it’s often empty, like it is now. And I’m glad for that because I don’t need some mom yelling at us that the bounce house is for small children. I hate people like that.

Butters holds my hands as we bounce. He says to me, “Y’know what’s funny about this place?”

“What?”

The smile he directs my way is moony. “We ran away from the field trip to go here. Back in fourth grade.”

“That’s true,” I agree.

We spend three hours at Super Phun Thyme. The sky is in afterglow by the time we’re leaving. The drive home is quiet. Butters keeps his hand on my wrist the whole time.

When I open the front door, I’m hit by a wall of shouting. Not the type of shouting during arguments, but the type of shouting that happens when you’re about to lose a video game. Stan, Kyle, and Kenny are sitting on the couches, controllers in their hands. They’re screaming at the TV.

“Hey, Ken!” Butters exclaims, bounding towards Kenny. “Haven’t seen you in a while!”

Kenny looks away from the TV and grins at Butters, then me. “Hey, Leo. Good to see you.” He and Butters share a quick hug. Kenny and I bump fists. “Hey, dude,” he says.

Kenny and Henrietta got married five months after their engagement, and Kenny moved out that same day since his and Henrietta’s wedding took place in the living room of the new home they bought together. He visits us regularly.

“How’s married life?” I ask, smirking.

Kenny mirrors my smirk. “It’s cool. Not that different from dating.”

“Yeah. For now,” Stan remarks.

“So speaking of married life...” I start. Butters looks at me with wide eyes. I grin at him. The three on the couch have diverted their attention from the TV to listen to me. They look on in curiosity. I throw my arm around Butters’ shoulder. I say to him, “Wanna do the honors?”

He bites his lip nervously. Then he nods. He flashes his left hand to our friends. They notice the ring, and their jaws drop. Butters giggles, “We’re engaged now and stuff.” He glances me from the corner of his eye almost bashfully. I find myself beaming at him like a dopey idiot.

Then the whole apartment explodes in chaos. Kenny, Stan, and Kyle abandon their controllers to clap me and Butters on the back. The praise and celebration reminds me of the text messages I got from my friends when Butters and I revealed our relationship. Even now, it still makes me cringe.

“Drinks!” Stan exclaims. “To toast with!” he adds when Kyle shoots him a look.

I say, “Nah, I’m good. I don’t really feel like getting drunk. I want to remember all this clearly.”

“Cheesy!” Kyle hoots.

I shove him. He laughs.

Butters kisses me before I go into the kitchen. “Can you get me some water please?” he requests.

“Sure, baby.”

I get Butters a glass of water, setting it on the counter. He takes it, smiling at me. I smile back. I find the pineapple juice in the back of the fridge. I pour myself a tall glass.

Kyle joins me in the kitchen. “Since when did you drink pineapple juice?”

I shrug, fighting a smirk. I raise the glass to my lips. “Since I learned about the health benefits.” I take a sip.

Kyle looks me up and down. “Since when do you care about health benefits?”

“I’ll send you the link.” I take my phone from my pocket, copy the link of an article I read years ago, and I send it to him.

Kyle’s phone chimes. He follows the link, and his face scrunches up as he skims it over. He looks at me. “That’s disgusting.” He eyes the glass in my hand. “Pour me a glass.”

I laugh. I get another glass from the cupboard and fill it to the brim. Kyle lifts it into the air. “To your engagement,” he says.

I grin. “Hell yeah to my engagement,” I echo.

We clink glasses.

Kyle gets Stan and Kenny beers. Together in the living room, we toast.

“So how did it happen?” Stan asks.

Butters and I sit on the couch. He tucks himself into my side. For the second time today, we retell the story of my monumental and impulsive thought to propose on an October Saturday.

The story ends, Stan, Kyle, and Kenny return to their video game, and Butters and I sit out alone on the balcony. The air is cold, but the sky is clear. In the city, few stars dot the darkness. Butters has his head on my shoulder. I have my arm around his waist. We listen to the muffled sound of the TV and laughter from inside. We don’t speak. We’re smiling.


	17. Eric Cartman

**Summer.**

“Look at this bullshit.” I walk into the living room, pointing to a wave of hair that’s particularly curly resting against my forehead.

From the couch, Butters turns to look at me. His eyes widen, and he reaches out his hands. “Oooh,” he says.

When I get close, he wraps the lock of hair around his finger. He springs the coil, watching it bounce back into place. He buries his hands in my hair. He rises to his knees so he can rest his cheek on the top of my head. Even though the couch is keeping us from full contact, I hug him. I feel him playing with my hair, always gravitating back to the lone curl.

Slowly, I rub my hands up and down his back. He’s wearing one of my hoodies. He’s in his boxer briefs, and my hoodie is big on him. His legs are milky smooth. His leg hair is fair and golden, and from this angle, it looks like he doesn’t have any at all. He has one sock with carrot patterns on his right foot. He’s always hung around at home with one sock, but ever since moving in, he’s abandoned his pants, which I don’t mind.

I say, “You’re looking mad fine, B-Butts.”

He giggles, and my chest does happy little flips. He rubs his cheek on my head. “Come watch with me,” he murmurs.

I hop over the back of the couch, collapsing next to him, all without taking my arms from him. He beams, hugging me around my middle. We’ve been living in our new house for a month now. Before getting engaged eight months ago, Butters and I had been looking at houses. My new job was paying well, and I was considering buying us a place of our own. Since then, my career has taken off, and I’m raking in seven figures. I bought us a nice place that’s a five minute drive from school. There are five bedrooms and six bathrooms. The walls are gray and the floor is hardwood. Most of the furniture is beige. The couches are, the carpets, and the coffee tables. On the coffee table between the couch and the flat screen TV on the wall above the fireplace is a pink button that at first glance, I mistake as a pig snout.

I point it out to Butters, “I thought that button was a pig snout.”

He giggles, his head rolling to my shoulder. He’s watching _Rick and Morty,_ but he breaks his attention from it to gaze up at me. “Whatever happened to Fluffy?” he asks.

In third grade, I had a pig named Fluffy. I’m surprised he remembers her. I joke, “Mom and I turned her into bacon.”

Butters, for a moment, is horrified. It shows on his face. I laugh, cupping his cheeks.

“I’m kidding. She just got too big for the house, and with Mr. Kitty around, things got crowded. We sold her to Farmer Denkins. I made him promise to take good care of her and to not turn her into actual bacon. Up until sixth grade, I would visit every Sunday after church to make sure she was still alive, and every time, she was in her stall. She was huge. Denkins took good care of her,” I explain.

“Why’d you stop visitin’?” he asks.

I move my hand up and down his arm. “I got busy once middle school hit. I didn’t have as much free time as I did in elementary. My mind was always elsewhere. And then there was us. But Denkins kept me updated on Fluffy. A few months after you and I became official, he told me she’d had piglets.”

Butters gasps. “Why didn’t you tell me? We coulda went to see ‘em!” he whines.

I nuzzle my nose against his. “I told you, I was busy.”

He pouts. He returns to the show. I try to watch too, but I find my gaze ceaselessly drifting back to him. He’s chewing on one of the drawstrings of my hoodie. Ever since I let him wear my hoodies in eighth grade, he developed a habit of chewing on the strings. He doesn’t do it to his own drawstrings though. Just mine, whether he’s wearing the hoodie or I am. At first, I would take it from his mouth, but eventually, I let him do it. Oddly, it started to comfort me, knowing he was close enough to chew on the strings of my hoodie.

The colors from the TV reflect in his blue eyes, and he laughs a little at something Rick says.

I give up on trying to pay attention to the show. I admire Butters’ face, running my fingers over his jaw. Softly, I sing in his ear, “I fucking love you.”

He breaks away from the TV to lift the corners of his lips at me. Butters does a kind of close-lipped, shoulder-lifting, one-time giggle. He leans back to the arm of the couch, taking me with him. I’m the big spoon, his back snug against my chest. Butters is back to watching, but now he’s distractedly playing with my hands.

We watch two more episodes. When the credits roll, Butters sits up. He’s still holding my hand, and leads me out of the living room. We go up the staircase, to the hallway, into a spare bedroom, and into the walk-in closet. With his free hand, Butters pulls down a thin white sheet. I don’t ask what he’s doing. I want to be surprised.

Barefoot, we go into the backyard. The sandstone tiles of the patio underfoot are warm from the summer sun long set. Grasshoppers chirp in the distance. There’s no wind. The air is warm.

Butters finds rope on the glass table. He turns on the string of lights hanging from the pergola. They light up our backyard. He abandons my hand. He continues past the tiles and onto the green grass. We have trees surrounding our wide backyard for privacy. I watch Butters thread one end of the rope around a low branch, and he ties it. He does the same to the tree parallel the other.

The rope is taut, and Butters plucks it, testing the strength. He drapes the bed sheet over the rope so it hangs, brushing the uncut grass. I know what he’s doing. I go into the house to find the outdoor blankets and pillows. I spread them out on the grass in front of the hanging sheet. The grass brushes my ankles. It tickles and itches.

Butters waddles onto the grass, holding the projector and the small table it sits on close to his chest. He places it behind the blankets. I go back inside to get snacks.

When I come back outside, Butters is in a fencing stance, pointing a wooden sword at me and grinning. I match his grin. I put the snacks on the table. He throws me the sword from his other hand. I widen my stance, bending my knees. I motion at him. _En garde._

Butters and I run at each other at the same time. Our swords clash with a hollow thunk. We laugh, jabbing at each other this way and that. Butters spins and dodges, but I juke left when he thrusts his sword at me.

I feel like a kid again.

I don’t know how we’ve held onto these wooden swords after all these years. We’ve had them since elementary, playing Fighters of Zaron. They’re worn and dull. The leather of my sword handle is cracked and flaking. Stan’s Uncle Jimbo made every kid in town who participated in the game a sword. He did it for free. I remember how when he first gave it to me, I wouldn’t let it out of my sight.

I notice how Butters’ stance is off. I take advantage of it, knocking the sword from his hands. It falls to the grass. He gapes at me, eyes wide and blue. But then he smiles and laughs.

I snort a laugh. I twirl my sword, pretending to tuck it into its hilt.

Butters’ eyes dart behind me, to the table with all the snacks. His eyes light up, and he gazes at me. “You brought out the sparklers!” he exclaims.

We have them from last Fourth of July. Butters always makes me buy extra sparklers so we can use them for the following New Year’s and Fourth of July. Butters has always been mesmerized by sparkling lights.

He picks up the box and the snacks, bringing them back to the blankets. He takes two sparklers from the box. He holds one in each hand.

“Can you light them?” he asks me. His voice is so full of hope I wouldn’t be able to say no even if I wanted.

I find the lighter in the pile of snacks. I hold the small flame close to the sticks. After a few seconds, they spark, and burst into glittering light. Butters holds out his hands from his side, his body a T. He steps off the blankets and further onto the grass, away from things that could catch a spark. He spins in a circle, quickening with every round. He’s a ring of white light.

I pick up a sparkler of my own, lighting it and joining him on the grass. The sparkler lights my way. Butters stops spinning when he catches a glimpse of me. He staggers as he regains his balance.

He giggles, “I’m dizzy.” He doesn’t notice his sparklers fade out by his sides.

“Check this out.” I spell out the word “Love” letter by letter with my sparkler.

Butters lifts his hand like he’s going to start spelling too, but then he sees his sticks are burnt out. “Oh.”

I laugh. “Have mine.” I trade him my sparkler for his sticks. He spells out my first name, and a third of the way of the C, the light dies. We’re doused in darkness chased away by the faint light from the pergola. Butters stares into me. His body is an inch away. He’s a bit breathless from spinning in circles.

He blurts, “We can have sparklers at our wedding. The guests can have ‘em. We can too.”

“It’s a plan,” I affirm.

We put the sticks on the table on the patio. We lay down on the blankets spread out in front of the projector. We’re on our backs. Butters has his cheek on my chest. We stare up at the stars.

“Remember when Tweek and Craig got married under the stars?” Butters wonders aloud.

I chuckle. “How could I forget? When everyone saw the pictures, they were shocked and offended they weren’t invited.” I frown. “I know I was. I was their biggest fan. I mean, everyone was thrilled they’d gotten married, but it was still kinda fucked we weren’t invited, or even _told,_ you know? We’re their childhood friends.”

“Yeah. But the Milky Way was so bright. Like it shone just for them,” Butters says.

Two years ago, no one had heard from Tweek and Craig for two months. Everyone was worried about them; the two of them attend college in Los Angeles. A week after Tweek’s nineteenth birthday in August, pictures were sent to the group chat. The two of them were silhouetted against a sloping hill and a huddle of trees, holding each other. Above their heads was the Milky Way, like a crack in the sky. A picture sent by Tweek was identical to the other, only there was a sliver of light under them, lighting up their tuxes. They’d explained that in the two months they disappeared, they’d eloped.

I murmur to Butters, “You should wear a dress. For our wedding.”

Butters scoffs.

“You’d look stunning,” I insist.

He scoffs again, but I feel the muscle of his cheek move when he smiles. “Fat chance,” he mumbles. He sounds tired, like he might fall asleep right in my arms. “Should we start thinkin’ about writin’ our wedding vows?” he asks.

“Hmm.” I pause, thinking. “B-Butts, the first time we met was in preschool. For a moment, we were alone because everything was new. But then you invited me to come play with you. I did. From that point on, I would find you every morning after being dropped off. We needed each other then, and even as the years passed, I still needed you. I needed your help with my schemes, something you always went along with when no one else would. I needed you when I felt like I couldn’t be real with anyone else. And for a while, I was worried that it was unrequited. But the day you asked if we were boyfriends, I knew you needed me too. Even after all this time, not a day changes in how I need you the way I need to breathe.”

Butters falls silent. He’s back to chewing my hoodie string and playing with my hand. Then he says, “I dunno how I can top that.”

I put a hand on the back of his neck. “It’s not about that. To be honest, I don’t know what vows are really about. Of all the weddings I’ve seen, the vows couples come up with are just about them talking about realizing the moment they knew they would wanna spend their lives together,” I explain. “Just talk to me. It doesn’t have to be poetic or life-changing.”

Butters makes a sound at the back of his throat. “Ain’t it s’posed to be life changin’? Since weddings are life-changin’.”

“Vows can be anything you want them to be,” I tell him.

He hesitates. My hoodie string drops from his mouth. He takes my hand and holds it up. He threads our fingers. “Um, well. Ever since fourth grade... um, I knew I’d never be able to get rid of y-you. I—I guess I hoped I’d never get rid of you. Um. You—you made my everyday life an adventure. You brought me color—you brought me red. And that’s why you were so fascinatin’ to me. ‘Cause no matter what you did or said to me, I always found myself right back at your side. I think… I think I don’t think I could live without you.” He looks up at me. “I promise my actual vows’ll be better,” he says.

I kiss him. “They don’t need to be better. I think that was perfect. And any other version you write will be perfect.”

Butters seems unsure, twisting the ring around his finger.

I kiss him again, reassuringly, before saying, “Why don’t we watch something?”

“Okay. You choose.”

I power on the projector. I put in the passcode to Butters’ laptop. Everything I do on the laptop is projected onto the sheet.

Somehow, we only have the attention span to watch half of our movie. It still plays on in the background. Standing on the blankets, Butters touches my hand. He steps closer to me, sliding between my arms. He holds me and he leads me in a slow dance.

Minutes pass, and we’re still swaying. Butters’ head is on my shoulder. My cheek is on his head. Our arms are around each other’s waists. The volume to the movie is off. The only sounds are the crickets and the faint breeze.


	18. Butters Stotch

**College, senior year.**

The officiant pauses. He looks between me and Eric. He smiles encouragingly. “There are no ties on Earth so sweet, none so tender as those you are about to assume. There are no vows so solemn as those you are about to make. There is no institution of Earth so sacred as that of the union you will form, for the true home is not only the place in which you will live, but is also the dwelling place where each lives in the heart and mind of the other. Now, will you please turn and face one another and join hands to express your vows,” he says.

Eric and I face each other. We hold each other’s hands. My hands are shaking. His are sweaty.

In the distance, a faceless person plays the piano in slow, steady notes.

I reach into the pocket on the inside of my white tuxedo, pulling out a crumpled piece of binder paper crowded with black ink words smudged across the neat blue lines.

I suck in a breath, my air going in shaking just as bad as my hands. I blink back the hot wetness blurring my view of Eric in front of me. He’s never looked better. His hair is neat and wavy, his eyes are mismatched and bright and staring deep into mine. A dream-like smile is frozen on his lips.

“I—I love you, Eric,” I blurt. I trip up my words and get tongue-tied. I start reading from my paper: “That’s what I s-said to you in fourth grade, the time you convinced me the world was endin’, though it turned out it wasn’t.”

Our friends and family watching chuckle.

I laugh with them, but I only see Eric. “Sure, I was n-naive and stuff then, but t-till I was fourteen, I wouldn’t know how true those words would turn out to be. But it don’t start there. You h-had me the moment I realized that whatever you did or said to me—good or bad—I’d always be right there next to you. Then and now, the stories you told me were drippin’ with danger. ‘Cause of you, I’ve been exposed to danger since I was young. When you kissed me the first time, I remember bein’ unable to kiss back. I knew it was comin’, but I couldn’t fully believe it was happenin’. I remember seein’ your face so close to mine. I remember your eyelashes on your cheek.” My chest hiccups. “Honey, I finally got a taste of the danger on your lips, and the moment you pulled away, I knew I’d be addicted till kingdom come. I knew that once I drew you back in for more, I’d never be able to run from you ever again. Thenceforth, I’d only ever wanna run if it was with you. I’d leave everythin’ behind if it meant I could be with you. Some might tell you I already did that, and maybe they’re right. Maybe I’ve yet to leave everythin’ behind. Or maybe I don’t need to do any of that, ‘cause, Eric, you’re my everythin’. And I want you for better or for worse, and that’s how it’s always been, and how it’ll always be.”

I don’t notice when the officiant takes my paper from me and puts it on his podium.

Eric laughs the kinda way he does when he’s flustered. The look on his face tells me he wants to kiss me, but he knows he can’t do that till the end. As a substitute, he looks down at our shoes for a moment, rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand. When he looks up at me, his eyes are watery. “See? I told you you’d do just fine coming up with your vows,” he says.

We laugh. I think everyone watching does too, but I’m not sure. Eric occupies all five of my senses.

He takes a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. His is folded nice and neat. When he unfolds it though, the sun coming in behind him from the giant floor-to-ceiling window makes his paper almost transparent. I see the scratched out words and phrases. I guess we were both anxious about making our vows perfect.

Eric opens his mouth, but instead of reading, he starts laughing. He eventually gets himself to stop by squeezing my hand. He clears his throat. “One time in fourth grade, you exposed me by showing everyone in town a video of me dancing around my backyard dressed as Britney Spears.”

Friends and family laugh as they remember that video.

I blush. I still can’t believe I actually did that. And I’m still proud of myself for it.

To them, Eric says, “Yeah, ha ha. Laugh it up.” He says it with a grin. He turns back to me and that dreamy smile returns. “While I was livid you did that, I was proud and amazed, deep down. It was at that moment I realized you were stronger than you let on. You could do some bad shit, and I saw your potential. Because of that, I didn’t feel the need to get revenge. You earned my respect.” He pauses to wet his lips. He grins at his paper, then at me. “I recall the time I decided to stop with my troublemaking. Everyone in th is room probably assumes I stopped because I grew up and developed some morals. And maybe that’s true, but the reason I stopped was because I realized I’d rather waste my days away with you. Besides, spending Saturday afternoons kissing every time I got first place in _ Mario Kart _ was  _ way  _ better than plotting to ruin someone’s life.”

Bubbles of laughter leave me. Those days are still so clear to me.

Eric goes on, “Before I told you I love you and meaning it, I was debating whether to do it or not. Not only had I never told anyone those words before, but I was afraid it would scare you away. I’d never been in love the way I’m in love with you before, and I didn’t wanna break that so soon. But I took a leap of faith and confessed. And you told me the same. So after hearing you spill your guts about me today, I’m here to tell you that I feel the same. You’re my everything. You’re a part of me, and I’m a part of you. And how can we not be, after I’ve noticed how you imitate the little things about me, and how I’ve found myself imitating you? You roll your eyes more because you see me do it all the time. I stick my tongue out instead of my middle finger because that’s what you do. I love when you do that. I love everything you do. I love your laugh, and your smile, and I love how you see past all the bad in me so it’s the good that stands out. And when you wrinkle your nose while you smile or giggle, it always reminds me that you have my heart in the palm of your hands.”

The officiant says, “At this time will you take out the rings you have for each other.”

From our pockets that we kept our vows, we present our rings. They’re almost identical. They’re both gold and have the word “steadfast” engraved on the inside. For the wedding, I had to take off my ring so Eric could put it back on when the time came. And now’s that time.

The officiant says, “Father, bless these rings which Eric and Leopold have set apart to be visible signs of the inward and spiritual bond which unites their hearts. As they give and receive these rings, may they testify to the world of the covenant made between them here.”

Eric goes first. He takes my left hand and splays my fingers over his palm. We decided that for the ceremony, we would wear the rings on our ring fingers. That’s where he slides it now. I do the same for him, taking his left hand, putting the ring over his third finger.

“Since, then, you have pledged your mutual vows, I, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the state, declare you to be wed today, on the second of November, according to the ordinance of the law.” The officiant smiles at us.

My heart jumps in my chest, knowing what’s coming next. I widen my eyes at Eric, grinning crazily. He grins back in the same way.

“I am sure you have kissed to the point of losing track. Today, standing here at this altar, your kiss is a seal of mutual promise. This is a kiss you will remember for the rest of your lives together. So, the time has come. You may kiss.”

I throw my arms around Eric’s shoulders at the same time he pulls me in. We kiss, and it really feels like sealing all those promises we’ve made.

Our friends and family erupt in cheers. When we break the kiss, they’re on their feet, their sparklers lighting up the room.

Eric, one arm around my waist, chucks a deuce to the crowd, his nose scrunched and his tongue between his teeth. The cheers get louder. Through it, the officiant calls for the witnesses—Kenny and Liane.

On the way up, Kenny claps me on the back and hugs me. We bump fists and he says to me, “How’s it feel?”

“Amazing,” I say, breathless.

Liane’s crying and kissing Eric’s face. He looks too elated to be bothered.

After Eric and I have our first dance, everyone comes out to dance as well. Eric took off the jacket of his tux and undid his tie. I ditched my jacket and bowtie a while ago too. It’s hot in here, even though the windows are flung open and letting in the late autumn breeze.

When everyone’s all danced-out, Eric’s chest is against my back, his hand over mine as we cut the cake together. It’s tall and white, with the date in gold Roman numerals right on the third tier. We share a slice, feeding each other as everyone enjoys their own piece.

Eric and I both decide to not limit the amount of slices we eat. We sit at our table with our guests around us.

Kenny, Kyle, and Stan get up, walking up to the mic they were using when they made their speeches.

Kyle says, “Hey, up here.”

When Eric looks up at them and stares at them quizzically, Kyle hands the mic to Stan. He says, “We got a surprise for you.”

All three of them wear shit-eating grins.

The lights in the ballroom dim. A projector comes down from the ceiling. Music starts playing, a guitar being jauntily plucked. As a deep male voice starts singing, the black screen fades into a video clip of my face. The video is three minutes and sixteen seconds, the exact length of the song. During those three minutes and sixteen seconds, muted videos Eric and I took of each other—or videos friends and family took of us—play along to the song. During the second chorus, there’s a video of me and Eric dancing on the coffee table in the living room of our old apartment.

The whole thing tugs my heartstrings.

At the timestamp 2:57 when the song gets slower as it comes to a close, a video of Eric propping his phone up starts. We’re sitting on the floor of Kyle’s room. Kenny and Stan and Kyle’s legs can be seen walking back and forth in the background. I’m talking at Eric, and he’s looking at his phone, making sure it’s stable. But then he looks at me, and the look on his face—I don’t know how to describe it aside from the look of pure love. His eyes are heavy staring into me, completely enraptured, and though his mouth isn’t smiling, it feels like he is. Through the video, I can tell he can see and hear nothing except for me. When I was speaking to him that day, I didn’t notice it, but watching it before me now, my breath catches. In the video, I stop talking. I close my mouth and smile at him. And the look on my face is also lovestruck. I watch my lips form the word “What?” My bottom lip is between my teeth. Eric smiles just a little bit. He leans over to me and kisses me so it lingers. Our faces are centimeters apart when we pull back, and we’re staring at each other so deeply. The screen cuts to black. White text floats up, reading,  _ Congrats to two of the most problematic of our friends. _

I’d hate to admit I’m crying, but there’s no point in admitting it when everyone can see the tears running down my face.

Stan, Kyle, and Kenny walk over to us, still grinning. Eric roughly wipes away his tears. He says to them, “Fuck you guys. You just wanted to see me cry.” Even though he says that, he gets up and pulls them into a hug.

I join them.

After cake, everyone goes out to dance one last time to close the night. I have my head on Eric’s shoulder. I take his left hand, moving the ring to his pointer finger. He does the same to mine. He keeps our hands up, squeezing my fingers. He dips his head, his nose brushing my cheek. I smile, scrunching up my nose. He beams.


	19. Eric Cartman

**Winter.**

We’re cruising through the busy, car-clogged streets of LA in the back of a window-tinted car. Butters stares out into the night. The colors of the traffic lights we pass turn his face green, yellow, red. My hand is on his thigh. Even though it’s been a year, I still can’t get over that giddy feeling I get whenever I see the gold band around my index finger. There’s music playing from the speakers of the car, but it’s lowered to a hum. The rumble of the tires rolling down the road is louder than the song playing.

On an illuminated billboard on the side of a tall glass building is an advertisement for some movie I’ve never heard of. It comes out this Friday. Below the billboard, people in superhero costumes are walking down the sidewalk.

Butters points them out, “Why’re they all dressed up like that?” He turns to me as if I know the answer.

I shrug.

Butters faces his body to me, takes my hand, and smiles. “Aren’t you excited?” he asks, his voice high with joy.

I shrug again. “More nervous than excited,” I say.

Being nervous is simplifying it. I’m overwhelmed with anxiety. This is the first event like this I’ve ever been invited to. There will be celebrities, directors, producers, some of the richest businessmen, all millionaires and billionaires.

Nervous is nowhere close to what I’m feeling.

I was invited to this three months ago, when I got the letter in the mail.

At first, I told Butters I’d blow it off when he asked about it. But he insisted I go. Getting the invitation meant that these people consider my name became as familiar as any celebrity’s. I told him I’d only go if he came with me.

He easily agreed.

He doesn’t understand why I’m so anxious. To him, this is just some party in an expensive hotel in LA with a room full of rich people. He doesn’t understand that these people are quick to judge, and once they’ve made up their minds, there’s no changing it.

Butters kisses me. “Try to not let that ruin the night. I want you to have fun.”

I wish having fun was the only thing I’m worried about.

Outside of the hotel, paparazzi hounds us. The flash of lights and the shutter of cameras makes my gut churn. I keep my head down, dragging Butters by the hand into the hotel, where the paparazzi aren’t allowed.

A big, buff guy is standing with his hands clasped in front of him at the door to the room where the party is located. He gives me and Butters a once-over. His face twitches in amusement.

I bet we look pretty laughable in his eyes. A couple of teenage-looking boys expecting to get into a ballroom where every A-list celebrity currently is.

“May I help you?” he drawls, like he’s humoring us by not chasing us away.

I glance at Butters, then back at the bouncer. “Yeah, uh, we’re invited. To be in there.” I point to the doors still closed.

He nods, not in an understanding way, but in a mocking way. “Uh-huh. I’m gonna need to see the invitation.”

Exasperated, I sigh and roll my eyes. I reach into the back pocket of my black jeans. I unfold the paper, thrusting it towards him, wearing a mask of annoyance.

The bouncer scoffs at our _audacity_ to whip out a _fake_ piece of paper, thinking that we think he’s _stupid_ enough to skim it over and let us in without _thoroughly_ looking at it.

He takes the paper, but he doesn’t read it. He looks at me instead. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

He jerks his chin at Butters. “How about you? You like eighteen or something?”

Butters shuffles closer to my shoulder. He stammers, “I—I’m twenty-three.”

The bouncer grins, running his tongue over his teeth. He nods, his eyes going wide the way they do when someone tells you something you don’t believe. He finally looks down at the paper, and he pauses.

I want to laugh at the way his face pales, at the way his mouth presses into a thin line. He surveys me and Butters again, this time in a new light. When he laughs, it’s nervous. “Mr. Cartman!” His tone is light and joking, with a bit of a warble to it. “I’m glad you could make it. I’m sorry for the delay.” He pushes open the doors. “Right this way.”

I throw my arm around Butters’ shoulders, sauntering into the ballroom. Two feet in, the doors closing behind us, I stop.

The room is full. Round, cloth-covered tables are set up everywhere. I recognize the face of almost everyone here. None of them pay attention to us, but what I notice is how everyone is wearing tuxedos and dresses. The dress code on the invitation said casual-formal, but everyone here seemed to forget the _casual_ part. Butters and I stick out so plainly in button downs and jeans.

“What the fuck,” I mutter to Butters through gritted teeth.

A waiter comes up to us and directs us to our table. We have to share the table with another couple, people I don’t recognize. They’re older than me and Butters by at least thirty years. The man’s hair is gray, and the woman’s hair looks dry from excessive coloring. When we sit down, they smile at us, but their pearly white teeth make their smiles seem sharp. Like a shark’s if sharks smiled.

I look around the room again. Butters and I are the youngest people here.

Another wave of extreme anxiety hits me.

“Eric Cartman, right?” the man says. I don’t have the chance to answer. He sticks out his hand across the table, and I shake it. “I’m Caleb Newton.”

The name does _not_ ring a bell.

“Uh, hi,” I say.

Caleb Newton lets go of my hand and gestures to the woman sitting next to him. She’s at least ten years younger than he is. “This is my wife, Hilda.”

She flashes a smile. I notice the diamonds at her throat and the giant rock on her finger. I wish I could lean over to Butters and whisper _She’s a gold digger_ in his ear. But this isn’t high school where gossiping in front of the victim is tolerated.

At the same time, the pair turn their eyes on Butters, and it’s eerie. “I don’t think I caught your name,” Caleb Newton says.

Butters freezes up, and his mouth opens, but he remains silent. So I say for him, “This is Butters.” Like in the car, that giddy feeling hits me. “My husband.”

That snaps Butters out of it, and he sends me a moony smile.

From there, everything goes downhill. It’s not like anything bad happens. The food is the best I’ve ever had, but it’s the dull conversation that makes me want to tear my eyes out so I don’t have to keep staring at the glittering mass of diamonds around Hilda Newton’s neck. The questions make me want to drink bleach instead of the whiskey in my glass. I imagine myself jumping up and reaching across the table to grab the Newtons by their necks and squeeze until their faces turn purple. The only thing that keeps me from doing it is Butters’ hand in mine under the table, always constant, like his voice when he answers their questions with ease. More people come by our table and suck me into conversations I don’t want to participate in. They all sound the same to me, and they float from the speaker’s mouth in dollar signs and piles of gold coins.

Everything starts to flow by, and I take in little detail. I don’t remember the names or faces of the people I talk to.

I’m brought back to reality when Butters leans on my shoulder and whispers into my ear, “Every song I hear now’s about you.”

I hone into the speakers hidden on the walls. I listen to the words of the song. I smile at Butters. I put my mouth close to his ear to whisper back, “I wanna go home.”

Butters bites his lip. He takes his phone from his pocket and checks the time. “It’s been an hour and a half, but if you really wanna, we can leave early.”

I nod, my nose brushing his temple. “Yeah. Let’s leave early.”

We stand, putting our cloth napkins next to our half-empty plates. Butters bids a polite goodbye to the Newtons. I keep my mouth shut and spare them a glance as we walk away.

We’re on the elevator when I speak again. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Butters interlocks our fingers. I see him peering up at me at the edge of my vision.“How so?”

I shrug. I lift Butters’ hand in mine to my mouth. I kiss the back of his hand, and I keep it against my lips when I say, “I hated it. It was sick. There was too much… flexing. I don’t know. It just sucked, dude.”

“Flexin’?” Butters echoes.

“Yeah. All they talked about was their money, and their four houses and eight cars. It was so annoying. It was all about them.” I look him in the eye. “I’ve decided I wanna stay humble and close to my roots. Let’s never move to LA, or New York, or someplace like that. Having to listen to all those conversations tempts me to pay off all our friends’ student loans just to get that feeling of complete snobbishness out of my system.”

Butters giggles. “Why doncha?”

“Maybe I will.”

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open to the second highest floor. I fish out our keycard from my pocket. I open the door to something that looks more like an apartment than a hotel room. The sofa is sunken into the floor. The flat screen TV hangs above the massive fireplace. There’s a chandelier above the living room. There’s a floor-to-ceiling windows overlook LA, and the kitchen is next to it, which is a weird place for a kitchen. It makes me wonder what the penthouse looks like.

Our luggage is in the bedroom.

Butters makes a beeline for the closest bathroom, so I hurry into the bedroom and lock him out.

Twenty minutes later, the doorknob to the bedroom stops short when it’s being turned. Butters on the other side rattles it. “Eric, let me in,” he says.

“What’s the password?” I ask. I grab for the hotel notepad on the nightstand. I uncap the pen and write the password on the paper.

“Um,” Butters starts. “Um… I dunno.”

“No, that’s not the password,” I tell him. I get up from the floor and walk over to the door. I tear off the paper and slide it under the door.

“Oh. Um, recess,” Butters says.

I unlock the door and open it for him.

“Ooh!” he gasps when he steps into the room.

Against the bay window, I set up a fort with the blankets from the bed, and the spares from the other bedroom, and the extra ones in the closets. They’re spread out all over the floor and hang from the curtain rods.

“It’s more of a tent though,” I say.

Butters dives headlong for the pillows cushioning the floor. He sighs deeply, closing his eyes. He smiles. “It doesn’t matter. It still feels like home.”

I join him in the fort. Out the window is bustling city life, even at night. “There’s more traffic here than back home though,” I point out. “And it’s way too warm for winter.”

Butters reaches up for me, and I put myself between his arms. He runs his fingers through my hair. “Anywhere you are is home,” he tells me.

My chuckle is soft and quiet.

Butters takes my hand, and I watch our fingers leisurely lace together.


	20. Eric Cartman

**Spring.**

I’m woken up by Butters’ loud scream-crying from beside me. I jolt into alertness, my heart racing. He’s curled up into a tight ball against me. Tears flow down his face, and his shoulders shake violently. I sit him up, holding him against me. His hands are balled up in tight fists against my chest.

“Whoa, hey, what’s wrong? What happened?” I ask.

He opens his mouth and screeches, “I don’t wanna lose you!”

I falter, but I hug him tighter. “Why would you lose me?”

He sniffles, attempting to stifle his sobs. He trembles. “I—I h-had this dream. I—I forgot most of it, but I remember the feelin’—and I felt so _crushed_ ‘cause I lost you. You left for somewhere and never came back, and—and—you left me behind, and I just wanna go wherever you go s-so I n-never gotta lose you.”

I rub his back and assure in a low murmur, “You won’t lose me. I’m right here. I’ve always been right here. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

I keep my voice level, but internally, I’m shaken too. I haven’t seen him cry this bad since junior year when I made the mistake of choosing to ignore him in the middle of an argument. I’d never seen him bawl so hard and panic so much as that day. He was begging me to look at him as he hyperventilated and sobbed, completely shaking.

And now this. It was exactly like this. That’s how I know it’s really bad.

I hold him to me as I glance at the time on the alarm clock on the bedside table. It’s almost seven in the morning, and something tells me Butters won’t be able to fall back asleep after the dream he had.

He whispers, so softly I barely catch it, “It felt so real. Like I’d actually been there.”

For the rest of the day, Butters wanders around the house in a daze. His eyes are glossy and faraway. Around lunchtime, I catch him staring out the backyard glass doors, past the trees, and through the sky. His face is expressionless. He hardly moves, and he rarely blinks.

I stand beside him, watching him instead of whatever he sees outside. I touch his arm. “B-Butts? You good?”

He doesn’t hear me. I doubt he even sees me.

I take his hand, running my thumb over his skin. “Butters,” I say, louder this time.

He blinks, and that look crumbles on his face. He turns to me. “Yeah?” he says.

“Are you okay? You’ve been spaced out all morning.”

He cracks a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine. Tired is all.”

He starts moving into the living room, but once he passes my shoulder, he stops and faces me. “Do you ever feel like something’s wrong? Like… a different kinda wrong?” he asks. His voice is low again, breakable.

I take his chin in my hand, making him focus on me. “No. Nothing’s felt wrong. I mean, in senior year, I had some off moments, but I haven’t felt that way since.” I furrow my eyebrows. “Do you feel like something’s wrong?”

He looks to the side, and then back to my eyes. “No,” he says. “I guess today’s just an off day for me.” He steps closer to me and plants a kiss on my mouth.

Sometimes I feel older than twenty-four. Sometimes I feel younger.

I help Butters in the kitchen, cooking as he bakes. Today, I’m caught in between. The atmosphere feels like a quiet cottage in the woods with music playing from a phonograph in the distance, but the way we’re acting is like discreetly fooling around in the back of the classroom.

Butters has never been that great at cooking, and he’s okay at baking, but it’s fun to see him try. I remember in Culinary Arts in junior year, he would get frustrated when his cupcake frosting didn’t taste sweet enough. He was good at the decorating part, but he never got the flavor down.

Butters huffs in frustration after swiping his finger across the edge of the bowl of frosting. “It don’t taste right,” he says. To me, he demands, “Try some.”

I copy him and get some frosting off the side. I give it a taste. “It’s not bad,” I say truthfully, “but it’s not great either.”

Butters scrunches up his nose and laughs. He shoves me a bit. “Meanie,” he bites.

“You should leave the baking to Tweek,” I joke.

Butters rolls his eyes. “Tweek ain’t bringin’ cupcakes this time around. So pay attention, _stupid,”_ he adds for emphasis. He tries his best to stifle his smile, and he fails.

I shrug. “Whatever. I’m just trying to help.”

Butters fires back, “You _haven’t_ helped.”

I shrug again, crossing my arms. Butters attempts to make an angry face at me, but he starts laughing. He pulls me into a hug. “I love you, Eric,” he murmurs.

I put a hand on the back of his neck, petting his hair with my thumb. “I love you too.”

At six, all of our friends arrive. Clyde and Bebe come in first. In one hand, Clyde holds a pack of beers. In the other, he has Bebe’s shoulder. Even as Clyde sets down the beers on the kitchen counter, he and Bebe still manage to gaze at each other in that in-love manner. They’re getting married in two months.

Token and Nichole show up next, with Jimmy and Annie in tow. The pairs are the complete opposites of each other. Jimmy and Annie still refuse to put a label on what they are, and Token and Nichole already have a three-month-old.

As each of our friends walk through the front door, the change from who they used to be in high school to who they are now is obvious.

Like Token and Nichole, Tweek and Craig have been married for six years, yet they still have that young love charm to them even after all these years.

Red and Kevin are engaged.

Stan and Kyle are still dating, but everyone’s considered them married since middle school.

Kenny and Henrietta are holdings hands when they walk in, and Henrietta has a baby girl balanced on her hip.

With everyone sitting in the living room, eating and talking about adult things like work and houses and kids, I feel like I’ve suddenly grown up too fast. It’s too soon that we were high schoolers just leaving middle school, and still remembering elementary. Now half of us are married, some engaged, and the few just starting to have kids.

Butters next to me watches the two babies playing on the floor in the middle of everyone so they’re never out of sight. Kenny and Henrietta’s girl is older than Token and Nichole’s boy by a significant amount.

Bebe clasps her hands to her chest, cooing down at the babies. “I can’t wait to have kids,” she says, a warble in her voice like she might cry. “I already have names and everything.”

Clyde laughs. “We’ve known what we’ve wanted to name our kids since high school,” he points out.

Nichole leans forward, intrigued. “Really? You never spoke about that.”

With a glance at Clyde, Bebe says, “We didn’t wanna jinx it.”

“Jinx it?” Tweek echoes.

Clyde clarifies, “We thought that maybe talking about it might make us not want to have kids anymore.”

“So what do you wanna name your k-kids?” Jimmy asks, stumbling over the word like it makes him nervous.

Annie tenses up at his side when he says it.

Bebe shares a look with Clyde, and at the same time, they smile. Bebe slides her hands down her lap. She expels a short huff of breath. “We’ll name our boy Drew—or maybe Corey—and our girl Cornelia.”

“We’re leaning towards Drew more,” Clyde adds.

“Those are _such_ pretty names. How’d you come up with them?” Red says.

Bebe and Clyde have another one of their looks. Bebe bites her lip around a grin, and Clyde puts his arm around her shoulders. “Just, you know, around,” he says.

“I’m still set on having three,” Red says. “I don’t have names or gender, but I know I want three.”

Everyone glances at Kevin, and he shrugs like _What can you do?_

“Me too,” Nichole says. “Three is what we’re aiming for.”

“I never thought I’d really want kids too much, but damn, now that I have one I want another,” Token admits. He leans down to ruffle Jordan’s hair. Jordan looks up at his dad with big brown eyes.

Their kid is so fucking cute. And so is Kenny and Henrietta’s. It makes my stomach queasy.

Jordan looks more like Nichole. He has her eyes and her nose, but he has Token’s dark eyebrows.

Anastasia is a perfect mixture of both her parents. She has Kenny’s eyes, but her hair is black like Henrietta’s, and even at two years, she has the same no-fucks resting face as her mom.

Kenny’s making weird faces at Anastasia, and behind her pacifier, she smiles. But she looks away from Kenny and seeks out Butters. Butters seems to jump under her violet eyes.

Anastasia stumbles towards Butters and stables herself with the help of Butters’ knee. Butters is fascinated. The baby lifts her little arms and makes grabby-hands at him. Butters, panic alight in his eyes, looks to Kenny.

Anastasia says, “Up,” like she understands Butters’ silent cry for help.

I wanna laugh at how Butters had a two-year-old with a limited vocabulary tell him what she wanted.

So Butters lifts her onto his lap. It’s almost as if Anastasia scrutinizes Butters before bursting into a fit of giggles. Next to Kenny, Henrietta smiles. “Zee likes you,” she says.

“Or she thinks you look funny,” Kenny jokes.

Slowly, Butters starts giggling too. Anastasia sinks to his lap and crawls over to her parents. Butters turns on me with puppy dog eyes.

Tweek and Craig talking to Stan and Kyle about how they want kids eventually, and how Stan and Kyle only want pets, is white noise when Butters blurts, “Eric, I want kids.”

Conversation in the whole room stops abruptly.

I somehow don’t miss a beat. _“Or_ you could just hang out with our friends’ kids,” I say. “It sounds like there will be plenty.”

Butters pouts. “It’s not the same,” he whines.

I cover his eyes with my hands, bringing his head down to my chest. To my friends, I tease, “Hide your kids. You’re giving him baby fever.”

It’s as if the room takes a collective breath of relief before laughing.

When everything’s calmed down, Butters whispers to me, “We could adopt a boy.” His eyes, forever and always, will hold that wide, hopeful childlikeness. “If you want.”

I bend my neck to press a lingering kiss to his mouth. “I do,” I whisper back.

Butters hides his smile by nuzzling his nose into my neck.

Hours pass, and the topic moves from kids to a trip all of us could take this summer. Somewhere fun. In the midst of it all, Butters and I step outside to take a breath of fresh, quiet air.

I stand with my back against the exterior of the house. Butters is in front of me, playing with my hands.

We listen to the chirp of crickets and the hum of the porch lights. The sun has set, but there’s still orange mixed in with the deep blue. Stars are scattered throughout the sky, becoming brighter as the night grows darker.

We’re mute for a stray amount of minutes.

I break the long stretch of silence by asking him, “Do you still feel like something’s wrong?”

Butters looks up at me. His answer comes slow. He explains, “It’s not that where we are is wrong. And I don’t feel wrong bein’ with you. If anything, this”—he lifts our joined hands—“feels _right._ I just can’t help but feel like somethin’ was misplaced a long time ago.” For a moment, his eyes gloss over, and that distant look returns to his face, though it’s gone as soon as it comes. He smiles shyly at me. “But I’m happy where I am right now, and that’s all that matters.”

I smile back. I kiss his neck. My suggestion thrums against his skin. “Should we go back inside?”

When I pull back, Butters beams at me, and his eyes sparkle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah. A meager ending to a mediocre story. It's supposed to be a lot more laid back than Loving Him Was Red, or Losing Him Was Blue. I've never really attempted at a series like this one, and my problems with committing to this story were evident. But I've finally finished it, and I'm so glad about that.


End file.
